Crypt of the Everflame (Inactive)

Game Master polyfrequencies

Starting Level: 1

Ability Scores: 20-point buy; no scores below 8 or above 18 after racial adjustments.

Races: Core only; you may choose any alternate traits within your ancestry’s page as listed on AoNPRD.

Humans are the most prevalent group in the hamlet of Kassen (population 750). Kassen is 93% human, 3% halfling, 2% half-orc, 1% half-elf, and 1% elf. There is also at least one dwarf living in town.

Alignment: No restrictions, but you should 1) be able to work with a team, and 2) have a real interest in completing the town’s coming-of-age tradition. Evil doesn’t mean you’re a mustache-twirling villain. A paladin should not be lawful stupid. And chaotic neutral is not an excuse to do whatever you want. There are two variant systems for alignment in Unchained, and we can explore those if the chosen players are interested.

Classes: Any class or archetype published by Paizo, including unchained; core preferred. No 3rd party. There are prospective mentors for all of the core classes in Kassen, and therefore for the hybrid classes. I’ll try to find an established mentor for you if you really want to choose a different class (e.g. the town wizard is a decent alchemist as well). There are other class adjustments, listed later.

Skills: We will be using Background Skills rules from Pathfinder Unchained with one exception: background skills that are important for one of your class abilities (e.g. Perform for Bards, Craft (alchemy) for Alchemists, etc.) are not considered background skills for you.

Linguistics: You can read, write, speak, and understand any of your racial bonus languages easily (as a native). Languages gained through ranks will go through a process of acquisition requiring Linguistics checks to draw accurate meaning from unfamiliar passages that you are translating. I have always been frustrated by how you can level up and go from not knowing a language to being perfectly fluent, seemingly overnight. This makes it so that the Linguistics skill is actually a skill, not just a way to gain languages.

Heal: I am considering adjustments to Heal like the 2E Medicine skill to make it an actually useful skill for healing. If you have ideas, I'd love to hear them.

Feats: We will be using the most recent version of the Elephant in the Room feat tax house rule set. You may also choose one Story Feat that you qualify for. Combat Stamina is free for fighters, and available by feat access to everyone else. Similarly, Unchained Rogues gain class access to skill unlocks, which other characters can access by choosing the Signature Skill feat (though they won't come into play during this campaign). Psychic classes automatically gain access to occult skill unlocks, which other characters can access by choosing the Psychic Sensitivity feat.

Traits: Choose two traits from different categories, along with one of the following custom campaign traits. You may choose a drawback to gain a fourth trait.

Wealth: You will start off with average wealth for your class at Level 1. You are expected to travel light, carrying only what you absolutely need—weapons, armor, spellbooks, etc.—as rations and other generic equipment will be provided.

Hit Points: Max at each level. (Note: enemies will have max hit points as well.) When you rest overnight, you will heal level + Con hit points.

Languages: No secret languages.

Favored Class Bonuses: At each level, you get your race’s unique favored class bonus in addition to both a bonus skill point and a bonus hit point. If your race doesn’t have a favored class bonus, you can choose from either this list (the second batch) or this one.

I’m open to considering other possible rule changes, but I offer this as a warning. The creatures that you face will benefit from many of the same rule changes that you are (especially feat taxes and max hit points). Be careful what you wish for.

I would like to encourage one substantive post per player per weekday (and one on the weekends), but I understand the realities of life. I care more about quality than quantity or frequency, but I want to keep the story (and game momentum) moving.

Please engage with the scene, the NPCs, and with each other.
Bad: “Grog nods.” Why? It’s boring and doesn’t add much to the scene.
Good: “Grog looks at the skeleton now lying splintered and still on the cave floor, and his rage slowly subsides. “Well that was embarrassing,” he says sheepishly, his tall frame shrinking as he hopes that his friends won’t think less of him for getting so angry.” Why? It’s more appropriate, providing sensory details and adding something that another character can respond to.

When combat begins, I will roll Initiative for everyone and combat will proceed in block initiative. When your character is up in initiative, you will have 24 hours to post your combat turn. If you don’t post by that point, then I will either have your character delay or (if you have a typical action), I can bot you. I plan to use Roll20 for maps.

I prefer a roleplay-forward style of play. What is your character thinking? What are they feeling? Roleplaying, especially PbP, is a collaborative environment where we are all telling a story together. I would love to be able to tell each character’s story in addition to the overarching narrative.

My first roleplaying experiences were playing and GMing on message boards in the early 2000s. Several of those games lasted for years, so I have a decent (albeit distant) PbP track record. In recent years, I have mostly played in person, where I have GM’d several Pathfinder 1E and 2E adventure paths, modules, and scenarios. I prefer a roleplay-forward style of play, though I enjoy the tactical, combat-oriented parts as well. I will follow my players’ leads and let you explore towns and NPCs as much or little as you want, nudging you back to the rails only if it seems like people are losing interest in the game.

During the pandemic, I have returned to the forums as my primary gaming outlet. I have been wanting to get back into GMing, and a low-level, limited story seems like a good place to begin before I jump into anything bigger. I encourage you to look through my aliases and campaigns to get a sense of my style of writing and play.

I intend to post at least once per day and will find an optimal schedule so that you can expect to reliably move forward. If this will be difficult (due to work, illness, travel, etc.), I will let you know ahead of time so that you are not blindsided by a prospective absence or gap.

After the party has been chosen, I will also run through an RPG Consent Checklist of some sort to make sure that we are all on the same page about expectations.

Beyond the class adjustments listed in version 3 of the Elephant in the Room feat tax documents, I am making the following class adjustments:
* Bloodragers will have Magus cantrips.
* Paladins will have Cleric orisons.
* Rangers will have Druid orisons.
* I am open to Paladins of Neutral Good or Chaotic Good alignments, more similar to the Champions of 2E, without taking an archetype that cripples the class. This will be determined on a case-by-case basis if someone wants to play a champion of a chaotic good, true neutral, or chaotic neutral deity.
* Alchemists and Investigators can prepare any of the ten effects from polypurpose panacea as nostrums, cantrip-level effects. Rather than choosing an effect on the fly, these effects must be chosen individually at the beginning of the day. Alchemists start off knowing all ten polypurpose panacea nostrums, and can prepare them as a magus prepares cantrips (i.e. three at level 1). Alchemists can also prepare chameleon scales, detect magic, detect poison, enhanced diplomacy, and vigor as nostrums. A nostrum is typically inhaled as a standard action, and can be used at will throughout the day, though it only works for the alchemist/investigator unless they possess the Infusion alchemist discovery.

* Please post a character sheet organized like the typical stat block of a character.
* You do not need to create an alias unless you want to.
* Please link me to one previous example of your roleplaying.
* Please provide a sense of your character’s background. Remember: you’re a level 1 local of a very small town, and this is your first significant adventure without your mentor. If you want to include someone else from town in your story, please let me know what kind of person you’re looking for and I’ll let you know if there is an NPC for you to include. You don’t need to have a big, long story. But what are your likes, dislikes, quirks, phobias, etc.? What have you done to gain the notice of the townspeople? What are your goals? Who are you connected to in town (especially family)? 2-3 paragraphs should be sufficient.
* After I know what class you are applying with, I will send you a brief profile of your mentor from Kassen. After you receive it, please write a short vignette about an example of training with your mentor and post it in the recruitment thread.
* You can also write about your character’s appearance and personality, but this is not required.

Background:
Mac's Last Journal Entry:
Growing up under Oakland wasn't the paradise most tallfolk think it is. They think it's all mining and party time with the dwarves and their beer. Well they live in the fantasy world. Not us dwarves. My life was hard and I had to figure out a way to make it less hard. When I found I was good with weapons the job I had seemed to fall into my hands. But it didn't stay that way.

It was on the street when I had that fight that changed my life. I fought in the pits to earn some money. It seemed that fighting was the only thing I was good at. So I fought. I didn't win them all, but I won those fights that mattered. That afforded me some time to improve my skill. As I got better I hoped to find a way out of the pits and on to the street. I was just leaving a food joint on 10th street in what used to be Chinatown in Oakland. That's when the trolls found me. They thought that because I was short I was an easy mark. Yeah right.

The fight started with the trolls trying to grab me. Being short had its advantages that day. I drew my sword and started running between their legs. I would slash at a knee or the back of a thigh, or any vulnerable body part. It only took a couple of minutes and the four trolls were on the ground moaning in pain. I didn't kill them. I could have. I wanted to, but that wasn't my way. They were just blustering and puffing their feathers.

As I wiped my blade on their clothes I heard, "Not bad dwarf," from behind me. A human in a suit stood in front of me. What was he doing here? A human in this part of Oakland and in a suit no less? "You handled them like a pro and I saw you could kill them but you didn't. Why?"

I shrugged. "It wouldn't have made a difference. They now know not to mess with me. They didn't really do anything, but they won't be doing anything to me ever again even if they do see me."

The man nodded. "I can't say I agree, but I can see you've thought this out. Walk with me?" He said it as a question but it really wasn't.

I pull up beside him and he slows his pace a bit to make it easier on me to walk with him. That *never* happens. As we fall into step with each other he explains himself.

"I'm travelling a lot now and in some less than secure places. I was going to hire a bodyguard from the outfit my company uses, but I think you might just be a better choice."

I accepted and I was his bodyguard for a about a year. I followed him everywhere. I rode next to him. Walked next to him. Slept in a bed just outside his room. I never left his side. He crapped I was there. He screwed I was there. He met with CEOs I was there. Until I wasn't.

I didn't see it coming. Unknown to me he had garnered A LOT of enemies. One in particular <GM: insert enemy here> had it out for him and set him up. They had three crews of toughs waiting for him when he came out of a meeting in San Fran with <previous enemy> and they pounced. I couldn't do anything against the twelve or fifteen toughs that were there. They had mages and shamans. Sammies and riggers. They overwhelmed me because the knew what I could do. They must have tailed us for a long time.

My boss was killed. I was out of a job. I went to other crews, but apparently I was now blackballed and, well, f@$# them. So what... I made it for a year I had my bugout bag ready with some credits. I grabbed my bag that was never far. I had stashed it in bushes outside our hotel. I made my way by foot back to oakland. Crossing the bay bridge was probably the hardest part because there were no places to hide. It was windy and cold. But I made it back to the tunnels.

It's been another year. I'm doing odd jobs. I want something like I had before with my boss. Possibly it's just the stability of knowing who I worked for. I'm working for myself. Now I need to make sure I have money. It's tougher than before I met my boss because I had it good.

But I'm a dwarf. I can do anything.

The town of Kassen has never truly known the horrors of the war with Molthune, but occasional raiding parties from Belkzen do sometimes pose a threat. As such, the town has been watched over for many years by Wisslo, who serves as guard captain. Gregor is a staunch man who believes in schedules and regiment over ingenuity and spontaneity, much to the chagrin of the town’s residents. As an aging fighter, Gregor is a qualified teacher, but his lessons are rigid and his discipline harsh. The guards he has trained are quite skilled, but they secretly detest the old man, calling him names behind his back (Captain Is-Slow is the current favorite).

Sledge Potterson N Hexcrafter Puppetmaster
HP:10|BaB:0|AC:15 T:11 FF:14|Fort:5 Ref:2 Will:2(+2 vs enchantment, see drawback)|
Str: 16
Dex: 13
Con: 12
Int: 14+2
Wis: 10
Cha: 10

Race:
+2 int, +1 feat, Industrious(+2 to concentration checks and a craft/profession of choice)

Skills: Ranks Stat Class Misc Total
Intimidate 1 3 Y 0 7
Spellcraft 1 3 Y 0 7
Knowledge History 1 3 Y 0 7
Knowledge Local 1 3 Y 0 7
Knowledge Arcana 1 3 Y 0 7
Knowledge Dungeoneering 1 3 Y 0 7
Knowledge Engineering 1 3 N 0 4
Craft Painting 1 3 Y 0 7
Background:
Linguistics 1 3 N 0 4
Craft Miniature 1 3 Y 2 9

Class Features
4 skill points/lvl, changed class skills
Add Bard Spell list to Magus spell list
Add all curse spells to spells known
Arcane Pool(.75*lvl+int=1+3=4/day)
-Can only be used as a swift action to add one to the DC or caster level of enchantment/illusion
Spellcombat-Enchantment/Illusion ONLY
The show must go on: (It's complicated, see archetype)

Traits:
Focused Mind: +2 to concentration checks
Bruising Intellect: Use int to intimidate
Unnatural Presence: Can intimidate animals and vermin
Defender of Honor: +1 to fort saves
Drawback: Power Hungry (-2 to charms/compulsions if offered wealth or power)

Feats:
Story: Twisted Love
1st: Arcane Strike
Human: Riving Strike

Languages:
Common
Elven
Dwarven
Orcish
Draconic

Stuff:
Chain Shirt
Light Flail
32gp

Spells:
0's (All) Usual Loadout (Detect Magic, Light, Daze)
1sts: (Hideous Laughter, Ill Omen, memory lapse, Color Spray, silent image, Shadow Trap) Usual Loadout: Hideous Laughter, Color Spray)

Murder Table:
Stab: +3(d8+5)(-2 to saves vs spells)
Spell combat: +1(d8+5) (-2 to saves vs spells)

Future: Lock Gaze, Shield

What moment makes a man?
Sledge never quite got along properly with the other children. It wasn't that he was rude, or looked funny, or even said the wrong things. It was just something about him that was truely... off. All little kids want to be the king in Kings and Vassals, but most recognize unconciously that in order for them to have a turn being king, they must be vassals when it is other children's turn. Not so Sledge. He was either a king, or he wouldn't play. The look in his eyes as he lorded over the other children was slightlly offputting as well. His enjoyment of the game came not from the make-beleive, but the power over others. Needless to say, most people didn't want Sledge playing with their children, thank you very much.
For his part, Sledge was fine with that. It gave him more time to create his artworks. Always interested in the work of his father, the local potter, from an early age he would create sculptures from clay, twigs, stones, anything he could get his hands on. And so the years went by.
It wasn't that Sledge was evil, or even bad per-se. He was just selfish. It wasn't that he didn't love other people, he just had difficulty respecting them. Often he was sent to Captain Winslow, with an intent by his parents to beat some sense into their child. He didn't hold it against them, he understood why they did it. Somehow, he managed to snag himself an apprenticeship with Holgast, the mage. Perhaps it was his bookish nature, a way to entertain himself, without peers. The other apprentices noticed, with some alarm, that the only schools of magic Sledge seemed to be particularly interested in were illusion, and enchantment.
One day, while twirling a hammer about that he was using to make a sculpture, he tried casting an enchantment absentmindedly. This multitasking proved too much for him, and he hit himself in the head with the hammer, causing his vision to blur, and for him to lose focus on his spell. It came to him in that instant then; the way to power up his magic. Hit them in the head, and it's harder to concentrate on not being enchanted. That discovery was what lead him to return to Winslow, and ask for combat training on his own terms.
It seems here that Sledge was destined for an unwholsome fate. An enchanter with little to no regard for other people's autonomy? Who knows what might have happened had Grimscar not been harassing Asina at the tavern. A feeling rushed through Sledge. It was a feeling he wasn't accustomed to experiancing; a feeling that he needed to do something. This was not normal for him, but he found himself standing in front of the half orc, telling him firmly to stop. What surprised him even more was that the blow didn't knock him unconcious.
What moment makes a man?
That was a few years ago, but Sledge still thinks of that moment every night. He had resigned himself to the fact that he was somewhat cowardly, prone to overthinking, and dangerously ambivilent to other people. What then, caused him to stand up for Asina? Which was the real him? In the years that followed that event, Sledge has tried to find that feeling again. He's opened up more, and started working with townfolk. He's helped his father take care of his infant brother, who killed their mother in childbirth, as well as creating miniatures to sell to help make ends meet. He's even taken up painting, something that was suggested to him by a young lady that caught his fancy, as a way to express himself better. But still, that feeling has never quite come back. Perhaps danger will awaken that feeling in him once again. Perhaps going to the crypt, to retreive the everflame will light more than just the town, but also Sledge's heart. Or perhaps he will be unable to once again rise to that moment of heroisim. He wants so badly to be the sort of man his father, the town, could respect, but his lust for control still gnaws away at him...
What moment makes a man?

"Sledge! What are you doing?" Gretchen hissed. Sledge for his part, didn't turn around, instead slowly closing the door to the cupboard that he had been easing open. Moving away from the old, robed man sleeping by the fire, Sledge beckoned Gretchen to follow him. When they were a good distance away, he replied.
"If the old man won't teach me anything, I'll teach it to myself from his notes. We all do it, even you Gretchen."
Gretchen flushed slightly with embaressment and anger. "We teach ourselves cantrips Sledge. We practise presti. Maybe if we're feeling particularly adventurous we'll cast an evocation like acid splash. You were going for one of Master Holgast's books of advanced magic!"
"Yes." Sledge admitted. It was pointless to lie.
"I knew it! What were you looking at this time? Collete says that she saw you looking at dominate person last week!"
Sledge was silent, there was nothing really to say.
"You're sick, do you know that? The rest of the apprentices want to learn magic so we can help people, help this town! We're going to save people, not... not... turn them into mindslaves!"
"Why don't you tell me how you really feel Gretchen?" Sledge's voice was almost monotone, but there was a slightly sarcastic undercurrent to it. Gretchen might have been an insufferable teachers pet, but her words still stung him. Why had he been looking at those spells? They were far beyond him.
"Don't you start with me Sledge Potterson!" Gretchen's voice had reached a note that had caused the old man in the chair by the fire to stir in his sleep. This would not do. He put a finger up to his lips.
"I will not be quiet! Master Holgast deserves to know what you've been up to, what spells you've been looking at-" Gretchen finally noticed the book that was under Sledge's arm. It had his name on it. It was new, and rather unassuming, but it contained secrets. "What spells were you looking at? What did you steal from Master's spellbooks?" Gretchen had lost all sense of composure at this point. Sledge looked behind him at his mentor, stirring in his sleep, down at the book, that was under his arm, back at Gretchen, and sighed internally. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this.
"Color Spray." he said.
He lept forward then, to catch Gretchen as she slumped. Master Holgast had said it was important to avoid letting people's heads smash into the ground. "And Memory Lapse." he added. She wouldn't remember exactly what happend right before she fell unconcious anymore. She would still remmeber the arguement, but that couldn't be helped. Now, what to do wth her?
The easiest option would have been to drag her to a study room, and leave her in a chair. Then try and create an alabi for what he was doing at the time. But Sledge found that slightly too... distasteful for him. Besides, it was his first time casting that spell on a person, and he wanted to make sure that she would be ok when she woke up. He'd have to stay with her, and then face her wrath when she woke up. What had started as a routine theft of the old man's spells had quickly spiraled out of control. What made it far worse was that he was almost 100% sure that he had made the worst possible choices.

This handsome, whimsical-looking man has a grin on his face and mischievous glint in his eyes.

Male, Human, Bard
CG, Medium Humanoid (human, Taldan)
Initiative +2 (+2 dex) Senses Perception +3

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DEFENSE
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AC: 17, touch 12, flat footed 15 (+ 2 Dex +3 Armor +2 Shield)
HP: 10 (8 class, +2 con)
Fort +2, Ref +4, Will +2 (+5 vs charm and compulsion)

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OFFENSE
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Speed 30
Melee Longsword +3 (1d8 +3/19-20)
Melee Club +3 (1d6+2 /x2)
Ranged Shortbow +3 (1d6/x3) range 60
Ranged Club +3 (1d6+3 /19-20) range 10
Special Attacks: bardic performance 6 rounds/day (move action; distraction, fascinate (DC 13), inspire courage +1)

Bard Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +3) 
1st (2/day) liberating command, vanish 
0 (at will) detect magic, light, open/close, mage hand, read magic,

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STATISTICS
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Str 17, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 10 Wis 8, Cha 14
Base Atk +0; CMB +3; CMD 15
Feats Arcane Strike (1st level), Combat Advice (Bonus Human), Unforgotten(Bonus Story)
Skills Acrobatics +6, Diplomacy +6, Heal +3, Knowledge (History) +5, Knowledge (Local) +5, Knowledge (Other) +1 Intimidate +7, Perception +3, Perform (Sing) +6, Sleight of hand +6, Stealth +6
Traits Helpful (Combat) Irrepressible(Faith), Mentored (Social) Dependent (Drawback)
Languages Common,
SQ
Gear Longsword, Studded Leather Armor, Heavy Shield (steel), Shortbow, Club, Arrows [20], 14gp

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SPECIAL ABILITIES/CLASS FEATURES
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Arcane Strike As a swift action, you can imbue your weapons with a fraction of your power. For 1 round, your weapons deal +1 damage and are treated as magic for the purpose of overcoming damage reduction. For every five caster levels you possess, this bonus increases by +1, to a maximum of +5 at 20th level.
Bardic Knowledge Add half class level (minimum 1) to all Knowledge skill checks and may make all Knowledge skill checks untrained.
Bardic Performance 6 rounds/day as a move action; Countersong (DC 13), Fascinate, Inspire Courage +1,
Combat Advice As a move action, you can offer useful advice to an ally engaged in combat at just the right moment. Designate an enemy; your ally gains a +2 competence bonus on her next attack roll against that enemy. For your ally to benefit from this feat, you must be able to clearly see your ally and the designated enemy, and your ally must be able to hear you.
Dependent You are dependent upon the acceptance of others. Whenever you fail a Diplomacy check, you become shaken for 1 hour.
Helpful When using the aid another action, you grant your ally a +3 bonus instead of a +2 bonus.
Irrepressible You can use your Charisma modifier in place of your Wisdom modifier when attempting Will saving throws against charm and compulsion effects.
Mentored Gain a +1 trait bonus on Perform Sing checks. Also gain a +1 trait bonus when you aid another’s skill check with any skill.
Showdown Gain a +1 trait bonus on intimidate skill checks.
Unforgotten reduce any nonlethal damage you take by 1 point, to a minimum of 1 point of nonlethal damage. You also gain a +1 bonus on Will saves.

Caede is a good-looking man with a bemused countenance that makes him look like he’s always about to laugh. His face is framed by long flowing blond hair that is always askew with green, gem like, eyes which appear to be filled with mischief. The bard carries himself with a casual confidence that says he is without a care in the world. He is most often dressed in simple but well made clothes with a vibrant burnt orange cloak.

Caede is friendly, fun loving, and good natured trying to see everyone as a potential friend. However he seeks the adulation of others often getting sullen when his friendly overtures are rejected. He tries to have a story for every occasion and he believes everyone has a story waiting to be told. The young bard has a biting sense of humor which has gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. His sonorous voice often gives advice in metaphors from tales of yore, with a knowing grin.

Caede is like many young men born in a small rural community, a dreamer. He is the third of seven children (Issle, Rob, Yonce, Hobb, Corrin, and Kivan) born to a family of hard working turnip farmers on the outskirts of Kassen. Much to the chagrin of his parents (Tess and Urias) the lad spent most of his time lost in thought fantasizing about knights, princesses, and lost treasures or wandering about with a song on his lips.

With little aptitude for farming Caede’s parents sought an apprenticeship for him with the tradesmen of Kassen. Unfortunately the boys lackadaisical attitude was well known and no one would take him on until Jocyn Elmaran heard him sing. The half elf recognized Caede’s natural talent and began to train the boy in song, story, and sword, the way of the bard.

Caede took to the training like a fish to water, quickly growing in skill. Recently the aspiring bard has been allowed to perform at the Seven Silvers entertaining its patrons. Now Caede is looking forward to completing the coming of age ceremony and striking off on his own to see more of the world and find his sister who he lost contact with, after she left home, a few years ago.

The mid morning sun drifted in through the windows of the mostly empty common room of the Seven Silvers Inn illuminating its two occupants. The older of the two men sat at a table with a half finished mug of ale in hand while the younger stood with a look of concentration on his otherwise bemused face.

”Once again lad,” Jocyn asked while he sipped from the mug in front of him.

Caede nodded and with a rich baritone voice began, ”Listen here and listen well for here is a tale of the Linnorm Kings!” The aspiring bard continued to recite the tale for his mentor.

”Well done Caede. Just remember the pauses are just as important as the words,” Jocyn offered soberly upon the conclusion of the tale. He pointed to a chair, ”Have a seat and let’s review the fall of Aroden.”

With a slight sigh Caede complied and tried to focused his attention on Jocyn’s words but his mind began to wander, journeying back to the past…

Cade reflected on his three years of training under the half elf’s tutelage the countless hours reading, reciting and memorizing stories. Breathing exercises, sorcery, and swordplay were just as taxing. But this is almost over. Just a few more days before the coming of age ceremony, he happily thought.

Just as quickly he focused his attention back on his mentor’s words but Jocyn was no longer talking about Aroden. The half elf had once again drifted into nostalgia and unhappy memories, regurgitating a meandering tale of past deeds, orc savages, and wounds that were better left buried.

Father: "Okay Median, you are going to be representing the family during this apprenticeship, so I want to see your best work."
Median: "Yes, father."

She turns and blasts the stone wall with a great gout of fire.

Father: "Not bad, but how far does it reach? Aim it at me."
Median: "I can usually get 15 feet or so. I don't want to burn you."
Father: "I wouldn't be very good at what I do if I just let you burn me when I know it is coming. Do it."
Median: "Well, at least put up a shield or something."
Father: "Ho ho... you don't actually care whether you burn me or not do you? You're just trying to get me to show you a spell. HA!" The fire, again, now."
Median: "Yes, father."

A giant fan of flame spreads forth from her fingertips, engulfing the old man, but it doesn't harm him.

Father: "You didn't even use real flame. How is anyone going to respect this family if you use that weaksauce* healing fire. Honestly."
Median: "I can't use real fire because you just stand there and don't attempt to defend yourself at all."
Father: "That's because I know you aren't going to show me any REAL fire until I make you angry. So, fine, you have forced me to it.

He picks a blunted training sword out of the weapon rack and starts toward her. She doesn't move... just sighs, and hits him with real fire. He gets slightly singed before throwing up a shield, which she tries to see/understand, but can't quite get it because she is worried about him and she needs to cast the spell again with healing fire so he will heal up... as always.

Father: "Okay, that is acceptable. Now show me something other than fire."
Median: "But the apprenticeship is just fire magic, right? That's what you said. That's all I can do."
Father: "You need to show off something else. You know a light spell, don't you? Cast that when you walk there as though you need more light to see... and hmm... your little useless trick spell. You can use that to remove the fire smell from your hair when you are going home... or clean your tools with it. Something mild like that will seem normal. Nothing gaudy like changing your hair color, but use your magic all you can. You need to stretch yourself, girl, not just fall back on the same old spells."
Median: "Show me a spell then, please."
Father: "It doesn't work that way. I've told you a thousand times. We're sorcerers, not puny mages. We make our own way, and discover the magic in our blood. We don't copy others. But... if you insist."

He turns into a dragon, and Median knows it is time to leave. She can't do that, and if she stays, he'll breathe fire on her, and she can't turn that fire into healing fire... she's tried. She hurries out of the room, going back upstairs to the main floor of their home.

*note that this is not a direct translation... the words in the common tongue were much harsher, and this is an attempt to convey the sense of mockery without the harsh language.

Father Prasst cringes in frustration as the contemplative silence of Kassen Cathedral is interrupted by a rumbling baritone humming The Captain's Wife's Lament, a popular drinking song, thoroughly inappropriate for a sacred space devoted to the gods.

"Brother Kreegan..." he begins in the expected, soft reverent tone. His words going unheard, and the song unabated, he raises his voice slightly. "Brother Kreegan," he says again, but to no avail.

"Buuut, when the Captain's Wife awoke upon the break of day, they say that they could hear her wailin' clear to Bo..."

"BOHRS!!" Father Prasst thunders, finally out of patience.

As the song cuts off into startled silence. The red-faced cleric addresses the burly young clergyman again, trying his best to resume a level, and controlled tone.

"You are late again for our discussion on Comparative Faiths of Golarion, and I have asked you time and again not to disrupt the sanctity of this place with your indecorous caterwauling."

"I beg your pardon, my good and proper Father Prasst," Bohrs replies in a friendly tone, undergirded by a small, but noticeable touch of sarcasm. "We each honor our gods in our own way. Old Dead-Eye appreciates your industriousness, devotion, and quiet meditation, I'm sure, but Cayden Cailean's a horse of a different color. I'd be dishonoring him if I didn't enter a house of worship singing as I do, just as I would dishonor him if I didn't drink to the honor of his ascension in the Starstone Trial!" Bohrs raises his silver tankard, and drinks deeply of the foaming brew it holds, not bothering to wipe the foam from his beard once the cup is emptied.

Bohrs walks over to the table and two chairs in the alcove nearest the door, sets down his tankard and props his Placard of Wisdom up against it. Best to remind Father Stick-Up-His-Bum that I am a Cailean, not an Erastilian, since he seems to keep forgetting that.

"Please, good Father, join me, and let us continue where we left off. Where had we gotten to last? Calistria? I hope it was Calistria..." he says with a wink.

As Father Prasst grudgingly sits in the chair opposite him, Bohrs pulls out a deck on cards from his pouch and sets it on the table. "Or, we can play a hand or two, if you prefer."

"Come on now! Where is this 'Pale Hammer' I've heard so much about?" the Captain mocked with a hefty laugh. Nicolette's face dripped blood from her dark hair down to her cheek. Shock rendered on her face as her hand touched the offending crimson liquid.

With a laugh, the Captain offered her his thoughts:

"Did you not think you'd be hurt? So near to the ceremony should I not show you what real battle is like? You are going to be hurt, Miss Yardley! And your ego and pride have taken steps beyond your abilities!"

He of course was referring to her nickname, which she had considered one day would land her in trouble with her mentor, but was in truth, not of her making. He of course had no knowledge of this and sought to bring her down a peg or two in pride despite her humble manner. For now, she'd have to bear the price of her sins, for to correct him would only bring more pain, and to cry about it would only justify his beating her.

"I can take more, sir..." she whispered, not sure she could in truth. As before, Niclette leveled her hefy earth breaker and readied a swing. This time, she assumed he once again would come in quickly to teach her a lesson. She would use his provoked anger to lure him in for a lunge.

For once, he had acted as she thought he would, and with a quick sidestep of his blade, she brought her hammer down upon him, but Gregor Wisslo was too skilled and slid closer, taking the power out of her hit. Within a split second, she was disarmed, tripped, and then her lights went out.

"Ugh..." groaned Nicolette in pure misery as she came to. Her head pounded as though she was left in a room with deafening sound for hours. The slash in her hair felt as if it had added to her pain for the same amount of time, and truly, she felt awful.

"You've been out for a good long while," the familiar voice of the Captain sounded.

"What did you do to me?" Nicolette asked in her soft voice, not even able to open her eyes yet. For all she knew, she was still on the floor of his training hall, however, her butt did feel far more cushioned than before, and as her mind recovered, she realized she had fallen hard on his rough floors enough to know she must not be there.

"Nothing you didn't deserve," the Captain opined, "And now you've cost me some bandages. Of which, when you've recovered, I expect you to work to replace them, and for bleeding all over my floor."

"My apologies, Captain," she muttered as she finally drew enough wherewithal to crack open her eyes. There he stood with judgment folded in his arms.

"You are a distracted, foolish girl with no heart. No passion. Where is your emotion? Where is that rage I've seen at times? Why do I not see that in your swing? You might as well be swinging a hammer at a stake, not at a moving target who is trying to kill you. I'm very disappointed." Yet, his voice seemed to almost convey a sense of sorrow for her. He no doubt knew of her past, her struggles, and perhaps by now, that she didn't even come up with her nickname, but it was too late for sympathy.

"I'm sorry, Captain. I will redouble my efforts," she weakly stated, sorrow lingering in her voice. It was truly hard to control the rage within her and yet be enticed to let it out. "I will not let you down again."

With whatever force that drove her in rage, she found strength in her limp limbs and slowly began to sit up. It was then that she saw her mentor actually care for a flicker of a moment before forcing her back down.

"You've done enough for the day, Miss. Yardley. Wallow in the defeat you've sustained, but learn from it. There may be days where you aren't swaddled in comfort and bandages, and when your friends will need you to rise again to aid them. But...for this day...just relax. I expect you to be better by tomorrow and to report for training at our normal time."

Kayle looked across the stream at the deer stooping to drink from the opposite bank. Owens great head lifted from his paws, interest piqued as well. The ears moved about on the doe's head, and Kayle curiously looked about through the screen of brush in front of him.

Where was the fawn?

His master had bid him to document the local wildlife for her. It was an exercise more for Olmira than him though. Kayle never seemed to catch on to the knowledge of the natural world she tried to teach him. His reports were always more akin to stories. A family of badgers and the temperament of the litter, a wounded bear and how Owens had almost gotten them into a fight with it, or even the great number of dragonflies at the local pond.

Of course, his insight into the mother's blasé approach to parenting didn't tell him where her fawn had gotten to.

Standing abruptly from his hiding spot, the spooked doe abruptly darted off in the direction of the glade she normally rested at. Owens let out a great yawn and shifted on his great paws before looking to his master. "Stay put." he told his companion, though the words were unnecessary. Kayle then went back in the direction the doe had originally come from.

Normally he needed Owens to guide him, unless he wanted to meander about lost. While he wasn't opposed to wandering, he knew the area well enough where he was headed. There was a copse of berry bushes nearly ripe to the west, and he had seen spots where animals had grazed. Now he was backtracking the nature trail to see if he could find the fawn.

Sadly, he found what he was looking for before reaching the berry bushes. He saw the fawn's head peeking out from under some scrub, dead eyes glassy and dim. He couldn't get a clear look at the rest of it, but the smell and broken body were apparent. "You should have been watchful of your child." he noted sadly. His lips tightened as he pushed an old memory from his mind.

Then he caught another scent. Heard the brush of leaves under some shifting weight. It was a jaundiced and ripe scent. The scent of spoiled meat fresh on a predator's maw. He stiffened, and cautiously looked over to the small rise on the opposite side of the game trail. He barely made out the outline that did not belong, tan and muscularly built.

There was no hesitation as he turned and ran. The pained cry of the cougar behind him as it yowled after him and broke down the rise. A dead run back down the trail gave him a slight headstart, and the young man broke his voice crying out, "Owens!" The crash of the big cat behind him was muffled by it's heavy paws, and he knew he had moments before it would overtake him.

The young man hopped a dead tree on the opposite side of the path, putting the stump and the fallen trunk between him and the cat. It came up short, carefully pacing around as he matched it. The trunk would block his escape, but as he neared it he grabbed a dead knotted branch. It had been sheered away almost to the trunk to leave a few feet of hard and gnarled wood. He pulled hard, relishing the dried splintering sound. Still, the rounded end of it remained partially in the tree.

Looking at the cougar making the last few bounding paces to him, he angrily shouted and kicked out with a foot to intercept it's pounce. He broke some of the momentum, and the beast went back down to all fours before swiping at his extended leg. Kayle grimaced and tugged desperately at the branch, and now it did come loose. Though he was being dragged down by the cougar.

He brought the makeshift club up across his body, having it pinned against him by one of the big cat's claws. He angled up the other end, blocking it's attempt to bite him. Still, he doubted he had long. Then, almost as if on cue a dark and golden furred blur filled his vision as Owens came flying in and drove the cat off of him.

The dog's mouth was wide to bite at the windpipe of the hulking mountain lion, but couldn't find proper purchase as the cat twisted away and the loose hide around it's shoulders helped it slip the bit. Owen's put himself between his master and the wild animal, snapping and barking angrily at the impudent cat. Kayle himself struggled to rise, putting his weight on his uninjured leg and hefting the club high in both hands.

The cougar snarled at the both of them, pacing about angrily and making a feint charge. Owens was there in an instant, putting himself between the cat and risking angry swipes of it's claws. The dog then made a short lunge forward as well, threatening the cat with it's white teeth and spattering the ground with saliva. The cougar considered it's next course when Kayle hefted the club high and shouted.

Not liking the odds, the cat gave a hiss and then took off into the forest. Kayle slumped immediately. Leaning on the trunk of the tree for support he looked down to his pant leg, shredded and dark blood coming out over his boot. Owens remained alert, but once he was sure the threat was past he jerked around and started to poke his head into his wounded master's side for support.

"I'll be fine." he reassured his faithful companion, "I just need to patch this up. I imagine you'll be getting a nice treat when father hears what you did today." He laid a hand on the great head of his dog, smoothing the fluffy dark golden fur before rolling his ears softly in his palm. "Thank you, partner." he added.