Constantine wanders the streets, stopping to greet his fellow worshipers of Iomedae and enjoy some of the food. He continues to move towards the base of the cathedral as he doesn't want to miss the opening blessings of the holy day. He retrieves his holy text of Iomedae, 'The Twelve Acts', from his backpack so he can read along.
"How different from home where the only gathering like this would be for Asmodeus. Perhaps father was right and this is where I belong."
And this Mrs. Anevia Tirabade concludes my report. I am by the way grateful for being in a zone of truth or you, for totally understandable reasons, wouldnt believe a single word I said.
Beerfiend spoke, growing a bit tired but staying utterly polite.
I would actually believe some of it. There have been multiple people, several of my scouts among then, who were miracolously rescued by "Totally not a Succubus", as you aptly referred to your direction giver, whose supposed name is Arueshalee. And none of those saved so far have turned out to be Nocticulan sleeper agents... The wiry human pauses.
Yet She finishes, with a quizzical but not hostile glance at Beerfiend.
I get where you come from, of course, Nocticulas agents messing up Deskarite and or Baphometan bullshit is well, good, but also... Beerfiend spoke, pausing.
too good to be true? Anevia answered his sentence for him.
Yeah exactly Beerfiend added.
What now? He asked after a mildly uncomfortable pause.
You are free to go, but I recommend staying away from in inquisition. Came the answer
Time to enjoy Armasse thought Beerfiend, as he welcomed the shining sun as he leaves the barracks of the eagle knights and heads towards St. Clydwells Plaza.
Crap He thinks, recognizing he has no local currency with him.
As he pats down his body absentmindedly he all but stumbles into a burly Aasimar currently reading a book.
Ups, I am sorry good Sir.
Another Angelkin? He thinks.
You are free to go, but I recommend staying away from in inquisition. Came the answer
Crap He thinks, recognizing he has no local currency with him.
As he pats down his body absentmindedly he all but stumbles into a burly Aasimar currently reading a book.Ups, I am sorry good Sir.
Another Angelkin? He thinks.
"The blessings of Iomedae upon you this fine day. Are you here for the blessing? Everyone can use more religion in their life! Do you have a patron deity? Have you heard of the wonders of Iomedae? Why you're in luck then! I'll read to you some of the 'Twelve Acts', the twelve miracles Iomeade performed when she was just a mortal - like us! Anything is possible with faith!"
Constantine will harangue preach to any willing to listen or those who simply can't escape through the crowd to get away. Obviously an act of divine intervention to spread the faith...
DO NOT MENTION YOUR FLUENCY IN THE 66 UNAUTHORIZED ACTS OF IOMEDAE
Beerfiens residual sanity tells him at this.
Also, do not mention that you read both the Callistrian and the Nocticulan versions.
He mentally nodded, before his sanity added
And in particular dont mention that you prefered the latter due to its fiendishly good, partially moving, illustrations!
Ah yes, I am a faithfull of Kurgess, and in part here to well, how about a Demon Slaying contest?
Arrius notes that Beerfiend has a small armory with some familiar and some unfamiliar weapons on his back.
After Iomedae ascended, some of the more established deities wasted little time trolling her. The Callistrian clergy published a book called "the 66 unauhorized acts of Iomedae", mostly making fun of her, and then Nocticula upped the ante by publishing a far raunchier version with moving fiendish pictures. Neither book is to be mentioned in Mendev.
"Kurgess eh? I'm sure he's a fine deity but I think you'd be happier, and better at slaying demons, if you worshipped Iomedae."
Hah, Challenge accepted friend! Does Iomedae have any issues with using temporarily body altering substances to improve combat efficiency?
If no, then I am announcing my intention to use such means upfront.
Beerfiend responds enthusiastically.
Fiddling with the sash holding his loose shirt down around his waist, the dwarf stops short in front of the two Aasimar. "Technically, no. She was mortal like me, not born of celestial influence as were the two of you. One might say you have an advantage in attempting to follow in her footsteps, though I dare say that 'Inheritor' is not really the best way to gain divinity. Either of you might prepare for the Startsone, though, if you really want to reach that far. Even for Aasimar, the odds aren't good, though." The presentation is dry, and he doesn't seem to notice any body language indicating how you receive his comments.
I intend start worrying about the Starstone after well, realistically speaking the most potent demon I could hope to defeat on my own would be a Schir, and the odds wont be great. Anyone having an idea where to purchase cold Iron Polearms around here?
If memory serves me correct, none of the Starstone 3 was an Aasimar, and more curiously, I am unaware of any half celestial, half fiend, or half whatever ever having been particularly successfull at it. Given the Arodenite influence, it may well select specifically for humans.
Beerfiend speaks, showing a reasonable understanding of history.
"As you might assume, cold iron weapons are quite popular here. I can think of 5 shops within a few minutes of where we stand that might have a cold iron polearm in stock, but most smithys will be closed for today's events." He'll provide directions and names for each of the five shops (Will's Weapons, Crusader Crunch, Cold Iron Works, Grendel's Glory, and Tareath's Teeth), but without slowing to ensure you can actually follow those instructions later. "I seem to remember that Grendel's Glory has a better reputation for quality of goods, but they charge for it."
There was some sort of clamor outside and he hoped it would go away as he forced himself out of bed. He unbolted the privy drain, prepared to deal with anything that came out of Kenabres sewers. But today there were no rats or bugs or eldritch abominations. He cleaned off with summoned water and rebolted the drain.
He was not nearly as successful in the kitchen. He was out of food. Then he realized what the clamor was and sighed. Most of the locals knew him and no longer reacted to his cursed body. They knew he didn't like a fuss but enjoyed quiet company with kind people. Zeno was one of the few people who understood what it was like, though his curse was being bound to his words and deeds. And Pakk was helping him understand the curse, finding ways to make it a tool and perhaps a weapon against evil.
But with the festival, there would be crowds of strangers there would be many who reacted to him. Gasps and stares and the kindness that was more a performance for the public. Every once in a while it was violence. Somebody so wary of taint that they felt it was justified.
He would have stayed in, but he needed food. Any time his defenses slipped, it took longer to stave off the void within.
With that he slipped off into the crowd. He smelled a cart with savory meat pies. As he was placing his order he was bumped from behind, strong enough to make him fall. He trunred to look and head a screech from an ample matron.
A green-skinned half-orc with a reddish-brown mohawk walks through the streets of Kenabres towards the Armasse Festival. Pakk feels silly dressed in his chainmail and carrying a scimitar at his side; it felt like putting on a costume. But that seemed to be the order of the day. Nearly everyone was armed and armored today, from the youngest children to the elders. He had done it plenty of times as a youth, wearing an oversized helmet and an ill-fitting set of studded leather armor lent to him by his father. (It had been too large before puberty, and then was too small after he shot up one summer.) So at least he doesn't look too out of place.
Pakk is carrying a large crate in his arms, jostling with bottles filled with beer and mead. Pemberton, his research assistant, had gotten it into his head to set up a food stall at Clydwell Plaza and wanted to make sure that he had some refreshing drinks to go along with his kebabs. It was flushing out his entire reserve stock, but Pakk had agreed to bring along his best homebrew for the festival. It had been six years since the last Crusade--indeed, six years since he had spent this much time at one stretch in Kenabres--and the mood seemed merry. It was nice to have a day off.
At the sound of a scream and the utterance of "monster", Pakk sighs. Today, of all days, was not a day to be throwing around such epithets. "Scuse me, pardon me, coming through," he says as he maneuvers through the crowd towards where the scream had happened, ready to give a firm tongue-lashing to whoever was calling someone a "monster" around here. That's when he sees poor Anathiel on the ground while a matronly woman shrieks and points at him. "For the love of--" he mutters under his breath as he makes his way over. "You all right there, Anathiel?" he calls out, picking up his pace, the glass bottles jangling against each other with every footfall.
"Yes, it was just an accidental bump." he says, still on the ground. Several in the crowd had their hands on their weapons, but Pakk's arrival seems to have stopped anybody from making any overly hasty actions. "I'm very sorry for my part in this, Ma'am." He knew he had no part in it, but it was easy enough to stroke her ego and assure the people he was no threat. While most people were goodly here, they also knew that they might be called to fight evil at any time.
He got up slowly, with the kind of effort an old man might do. Some people visibly relaxed and one offered a welcome hand. There was a loud "Hmmmpf" as the lady stalked of to cause disaster elsewhere.
"Well, you seem to be my lucky charm today, Pakk." he says as he looks to see the load of familiar bottles he's carrying. "I should follow you just to stay safe. I predict I'll at least be safe from thirst."
Pakk helps Anathiel up as well, balancing his crate in one arm and nodding his thanks to the other kind soul who had provided some assistance. He narrows his gaze as the woman leaves, trying not to glare too angrily at her obviousness.
The "monsters" of Kenabres need to stick together, Pakk thinks, wondering if his local mentor was in the crowd today. Pakk looks human enough that he hadn't encountered too much horror in this town--not as much as some of his kin did elsewhere in Avistan, at least. But for as welcoming as the Crusades had been--anyone willing to risk life and limb to fight in the Worldwound was accepted--prejudice still percolated.
As Anathiel gets to hit feet, Pakk reaches into his crate and pulls out a bottle. He hands it to the furry aasimar with a smile. "I remembered your favorite," he offers. "And sure. I just need to drop these off with Pemberton in the Plaza."
Hah, Challenge accepted friend! Does Iomedae have any issues with using temporarily body altering substances to improve combat efficiency?
If no, then I am announcing my intention to use such means upfront.
Beerfiend responds enthusiastically.
Constantine pages through the Holy Text, "Let's see....no...hm...it doesn't appear that topic was covered. If you have an advantage over me that you can use, so be it; I have faith I will prevail."
After hearing the commotion he asks the other two, "Did someone say there as a monster who attacked someone?"
"Tch. The god of honor shouldn't have to tell you that a fair contest between two upstanding people should be, well, fair, and without external aid or involvement. The question suggests that you might not care, though."
AS the topic moves on to the Karen cry . . .. "Hmm? Oh, that? I only heard one cry, and there's no sound of combat or people running away, so it was probably a prank of some kind."
Kanebres was never a city Zeno had expected to return to. Almost two decades had passed since he had been kidnapped off the streets and had been used as a focus for a ritual he was never intended to survive. This time around would be different, no longer under the watchful eyes of his parents (nor their reteniue) he had more to accomplish than completing lessons and standing by silently as his parents conducted their business.
It had taken Zeno nearly two months to get to Kanebres and now that he was here he wanted to get straight to business: finding an expedition he could attach himself to in order to see what has happening in the World Wound for himself. However, Zeno lost track of the dates while on the road and is happily surprised to find out today is Armasse, and figures it would be a waste to let the celebration pass him by. Perhaps he could find a duel to bet on. The Armasse blood sports had always been played up back home in Cheliax, but more than a bookie Zeno was looking for Anathiel. Though they had been separated a long time they had bonded after the ritual and remained in touch through letters. Zeno had sent one ahead but didn't know if it ever made it it Anathiel.
Either way the center of activity today would be Clydwell Plaza so Zeno would head there and let the day take him where it may.
"I suspect that many a brewmaster is glad that you only brew for recreation," he says as he sips the refreshing ale.
As they arrive at the food stall, they see Pemberton at the grill with meat skewers. As he came out for food, he'll gladly trade his coins for fresh hot meat. After but two bites, he sees a familiar chelaxian profile . He steps out into the crowd, past a dwarf and smiles as he exclaims "Zeno?! It's been too long!"
"Tch. The god of honor shouldn't have to tell you that a fair contest between two upstanding people should be, well, fair, and without external aid or involvement. The question suggests that you might not care, though."
I would disagree here, any contest between 2 people, that both freely agree upon, is fair. As for the externality, I make my brew my strength increasing booze myself, and had to study quite a bit to come up with it.
As such I would, even under your definition, argue that it is not an external capability. Beerfiend offers.
My abilities do include the capability of increasing the potency of my allies weaponry, somewhat akin but not exactly alike to a Bardic performance, as well. I would hardly exclude him from the effects.
As to the price, how about the loser owes the winner 5 good drinks? Can be substituted by meals should the winner dislike drinks.
As to the price, how about the loser owes the winner 5 good drinks? Can be substituted by meals should the winner dislike drinks.
"That's assuming either of us makes it out of the Crusade alive!" Constantine answers with a dark chuckle.
"The problem growing up with Chellish opera; every story has a dark ending."
Reminds me of the old joke Beerfiend chuckles perhaps even darker.
In an Andoran opera, the main character is in danger, in a Galtese Opera, the main character will die, in a Chelaxian opera the choir will die as well, and the actual reason nobody knows about the great Kellid opera is that in those, the spectators die too.
A very dark take on the fall of the Sarkovian town Raliscrad.
Proud of its cultural traditions, Raliscrad still held artistic competitions, including an opera together with Chelish-Mendevian forces that were assisting in its defense, while the city was under siege by the Demons.
Wishing to show by this that their proud civilization will not be cowed by demonic Barbarity, and even emerged culturally enriched from the struggle.
Alas, the Demoness Minagho used this opportunity to get into the city, using the main actress as a cover-identity, and then unleashed powerful magic on the tightly packed ranks of spectators, outright killing or paralyzing many of them, before opening the doors for the demons from the inside in the resulting chaos. Raliscrad fell this day, and Minagho became its new ruler.
Pakk hoists the crate of beverages (mostly but not all alcoholic) onto Pemberton's stand as Anathiel sees someone else that he knows. He doesn't recognize the man offhand, but it's good to see Anathiel in cheerful spirits. He smiles at the sight, intent on going over to introduce himself in a few moments.
"Happy Armasse, Pem," he says to his assistant.
"Oh, you too, boss!" comes the squeaky reply.
Pemberton wasn't much younger than Pakk, but he was also far less independent. Pakk had been told that having a research assistant would make his life easier, but what it really meant was: here's a dumb kid with half-baked ideas who doesn't know anything, and you get to train him! Hurray... He might make a decent researcher someday, but it was probably good that he had someone showing him the ropes so that he didn't set off a stink bomb in his face. Or worse. There were some days that Pakk didn't get much work actually done. Had he been like that with he had been learning from Dr. Othirubo?
Well, the kid was nice. And eager. That helped when he neglected to clean the flasks. Again.
"Selling much?"
Pemberton's eyes light up. "They're selling themselves! You were right about following that Qadiran recipe. My apartment stinks, but my gods they're tender. Please, have one! On the house."
Pakk smiles, his tusks jutting out from his lower jaw, and he grabs a stick of meat. He smells the aroma--good so far--and takes a bite.
Damn. The boy knows how to cook.
Pakk lets out an involuntarily moan and lifts a hand to his face to catch some juice threatening to dribble down onto his shirt. The half-orc nods and his smile widens. "This is great, Pem."
"Really? You like it?"
Pakk had tried to praise his research assistant where he had been able to, but he recognizes that such praise had been limited. He'd have to work on that. "Very much. It's delicious."
Pemberton beams and does a little jig behind his grill. "Good! Send more people over!"
"Oh, I will," Pakk replies.
Maybe he should be a chef instead of a chemist.
Beer in one hand and kebab in the other, Pakk goes to check on Anathiel and his stranger-friend.
"That was absolutely not part of the day's planned events. Did anyone else think they saw Terendelev BEHEADED? Not good. Not good at all."
The dwarf pulls himself up and takes stock of the immediate surroundings, not overly bothered by the lack of light.
Blinking his eyes to clear not just the dust but in disbelief at what he has seen and heard, Constantine drags himself upright to begin checking on the moaning and whimpering.
"Yes, I saw it too. Let's not focus on that and see if we can find other survivors and assist them. If we can find my gear there was a crowbar and a hammer in a sack; I didn't buy a shovel - it seemed like bad luck. I guess I should've been more prepared."
After briefly checking on his own wounds, Constantine begins looking around him for his gear.
Beerfiend seems unhindered by the darkness,
Why were we falling so slowly?
Hmm, guy is too loud to be badly damaged, lets see if I can aid the female!
How hurt are you, can I assist?
He asks softly.
Are you capable of seeing in current light conditions?
He would then look around, with detect magic activated, for anything that could assist them.
Seeing that the lady was being cared for, he'll step up to the elf. "Let me see your wounds, I am a healer."
Anathiel! Is that you‽ I had hoped you would be here. There is a lot to catch up on..."
The guards announcing the beginning of the blessing run by.
"...but perhaps we should wait for the blessing to be over. Truth be told I've never seen an Iomedaen blessing done in public like this before. I'm very curious."
===D=I=S=A=S=T=E=R===
"IS ANYONE HURT?" Zeno looks around trying to assess the immediate situation. Dragons dying was not the immediate concern, surviving the thing that killed the dragon was.
@Anthiol: Looking about your surroundings you see the other five of the group as well as three others. A humanoid male, a humanoid female, and a male elf. The woman looks to be struggling a bit near a fallen boulder, while the elf is clutching his face while moaning softly. A man dressed in fineries seems to be moaning louder, but doesn't seem to be hurt badly.
@Arrius: Your gear is in the nearby rubble, and appears to be undamaged.
** spoiler omitted **
Arrius will take his crowbar and hammer out of the sack and set about helping Askold to free anyone trapped by rubble. If no one needs freeing he will start checking wounds.
"Try not to move too much until we can make sure you're okay." Constantine tells the wounded will trying to sound more confident than he is.
Quick count, how many of us can see in the dark? I can. I can also create dancing lights for those who cannot. He says.
Shit Terendelevs last action was to featherfall us? We better move quickly, that Balor would evaporate us in an instant, but it is just as likely that he will pay us no heed. His thoughts race.
Quick count, how many of us can see in the dark? I can. I can also create dancing lights for those who cannot. He says.
S$~$ Terendelevs last action was to featherfall us? We better move quickly, that Balor would evaporate us in an instant, but it is just as likely that he will pay us no heed. His thoughts race.
"I can see in the dark."
"I can see in the dark as well, though I can't read in it. Used to having lanterns available for that option, though. I see some first aid is underway. I also see digging tools? After a Feather Fall, how would anyone be under the rubble that should have beat us to the bottom? Maybe more rubble was created when the rift sealed shut? That might have done it." He seems satisfied at his own monologue explanation.
"Oh, wait. Do you need help digging someone out? Is anyone truly injured?" He will provide assistance where desired and possible.
I need some light, I didn't exactly expect to need torches today.
Beerfiends casts dancing lights, using 3 to illuminate areas close the NPCs, with the 4th being where Zeno is currently looking at.
Beerfiends casts dancing lights, using 3 to illuminate areas close the NPCs, with the 4th being where Zeno is currently looking at.
With a light source, Constantine tries to scan the area beyond his darkvision.
"Since you are wishing ill on others, Horgus, it is unfortunate that you seem to have gotten your wish. She is NOT fine, but she is seriously injured. I would recommend you stand very still while we care for Anevia, because we don't know what that huge spider over there plans to do just yet." He waves his left arm in the direction of the immeasurable spider as he moves to see if he can help with the injured woman.
Beerfiend tries to identify the spider from a safe distance, but fails to make much progress
Noting the broken leg, Beerfiend rummages through the rubble, coming up with a reasonable splint in the process.
I am not really trained in medicine, preferable for someone good at that to make the splint stick. I can do something else though
Beerfiend casts tears to wine on one of his waterskins.
Tears to wine is a good spell, the drink will increase everyone mental prowress, making us all more perceptive among other things.
He takes a demonstrative sip, and then offers it to Anevia, as well as all other PCs and NPCs.
Speaking to Anevia, Constantine tries to reassure her, "We will work to free you from the rubble and then see about that leg but you're in remarkably good shape. I need to check the elf gentleman but I will return."
Constantine, unsure of this drinking fellow, hopes he is telling the truth as he will need the assistance and takes a drink of the wine. He then moves over to the elf, hope failing, as the elf did not react like the others to the presence of the light.
Kneeling beside the elf, Constantine checks him carefully and asks, "Where does it hurt the most?"
19 since beerfiend is aiding.
Edit: Ups Default Alias striked. Dont worry, Beerfiend is not a Succubus, yet.
The dwarf takes a swig and tries to assist, as advertised.
Zeno see's the woman with the broken leg and hurries over. I have some healing magic though I am not exactly a doctor. Zeno gingerly touches the rapidly swelling leg and begins to cast.
That should help a little, or at least you won't bleed out internally before the leg can be set proper. Now does anyone see a path out of here or do we have to start digging ourselves out...?
Zeno see's the woman with the broken leg and hurries over. I have some healing magic though I am not exactly a doctor. Zeno gingerly touches the rapidly swelling leg and begins to cast.
[dice=Cure Light Wounds] 1d8+1
That should help a little, or at least you won't bleed out internally before the leg can be set proper. Now does anyone see a path out of here or do we have to start digging ourselves out...?
"We might want to make sure why the spider isn't moving first."
What spider? I don't see any spider.
What spider? I don't see any spider.
"Count your blessings."