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1) I am based in Southeast Asia (UTC +8) so my posting hours may be unusual (especially for those in North America). I usually update at least one or twice per day. Just to keep the game moving, please post at least once every day and at least once during the weekend.
2) Please keep all posts and communication in all channels limited to a PG-13 level and be both positive and inclusive.
3) Please label all three of your actions. Even if you think what you are doing is obvious.
4) If I am unavailable for longer than 24 hours, I will let you know in the Discussion Tab. Out of respect for your fellow players and myself, I ask that you do the same. Real life happens, and real life will always take priority over the game, but out of fairness for your fellow players, please let us know if you will be unavailable for an extended period of time.
5) Please note that on the following days, my posting can get unpredictable:
Tuesday/Thursdays - all day, as they are the 2 busiest days of my work week
6) Please complete the Macros and the Slides linked at the top of the page.
7) Questions, concerns? Feel free to share them in the Discussion tab.
8) Let's have some fun and tell a great story together! After all, that's what we are here for.
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A gentle, somewhat aerated sound emits at a low frequency as a robed figure enters the space, graceful movements, almost delicate, arriving him before the meeting spot.
A look into the cloak reveals a soft metallic face, and yellow eyes alight with some amber radio glow, rivulets of that same color connecting a pair of twinned streaks that flow down his neck, and presumably, to the rest of his body.
Awaiting patiently.
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"I am told you needed some actual muscle"
Short by the standards of his own people, Fjorn makes up for his average human height in midway heft. He is surprisingly nimble for a thick-bodied and heavily armored warrior - sporting a sturdy wooden buckler with a sapling glyph on his ample forearm, and carrying a modest ulfen axe in his right. His thick beard and full head of hair a dirty blond finds itself loosely bound into multiple moderately kept locks; a few of which are indeed well groomed and arranged neatly into ropey braids, whereas others seem to have taken on an orientation of their own, unruly, unwound, unorganizable.
Though his manners are polite, they stand in contrast to his wild eyes which dart around, as if to signify he is experiencing a mild hallucination at all times. This isn’t far from the truth, for beneath his warm furs what looks like a portable laboratory is stowed in horizontal and vertical rows across the inside of his garments and around his waist - liquids of nearly every spectra visibly within reach of his ordinary sized hands.
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The rough-looking half-orc wears scale mail, and has a sword at his left hip. A crossbow is slung over his back. He carries himself like a soldier, eyes alert for potential danger.
”Kosh Bracken”, he says, by way of introduction. ” ‘Fore I joined the ‘Ciety, I was a mercen’ry, scout, patched up fellas like you lot. Now I just get paid betta!”
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A giant floating brain comes flying across the formations of troops. "Giant" in that it's an exposed brain nearly as large as a beer-barrel with an atrophied body hanging beneath it.
Thandar's Third Theorem (the name of the giant floaty brain) is used to the effect they have on most people of this planet. They barely even notice the gasps or how activities come to a halt as they pass. From their altitude of 20 feet or so above the crowds, they scan the troops looking for Venture Captain Brackett whom they were told would have their assignment.
They spot a small team assembling near the Venture Captain and float down to join them.
"Hello, you are the Pathfinder team, I presume?" they say aloud so as not to startle anyone with a telepathic greeting as they smoothly descend to the field. Hovering just above the dirt, their feet - though clad in lightweight soft boots - don't quite touch the surface. The atrophied body with 4 thin arms hanging below the giant brain is clad in simple traveler's clothes. They bear no weapon or gear except a small pack upon their back and a wayfinder dangling from a thin belt at their waist.
"I am Thandar's Third Theorem, but please just call me Third for simplicity."
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The marble-paved circle at Breachill’s center has become an armed encampment. The tall bronze statue of the city’s founder impassively watches shouting officers of the Steel Falcon readying their formations for battle. Engineers carefully stack ammunition alongside enormous bombards. Nearby, Pathfinder agents hurry to and from Venture-Captain Brackett, preparing for the upcoming struggle.
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>>Blink-blink<<
"That's definitely a vision..."
Having earlier taken, or rather, continuously refreshing, a special fragrant concoction "for nerves" , our shaggy ulfen hero vomits the contents of his stomach onto the floor, clearing the effect of the mutagen (including any occasionally recurrent side effects), and gives the floating brain another look.
"Nope. Not a vision" and goes over to shake it's flappy hand "Fjorn. Of the Kolkind Clan" he is careful not to be too rough, oberserving that, as an organism, much of it's energy seems to be routed upwards rather than distributed evenly, resulting in a frail constitution but the apparent instalation of continuous levitation "Can't say I've heard ah Thanadar nor studied any of his Theorems, but, I can say that whatever mission they got planned for us today, I can dew my best to keep you afloat!"
As other Pathfinders ensemble and rehearse battle formations, Fjorn once again refreshes his nerve concoction, checks the contents of his handsome horn, nods to the others assembled, grabs his axe, goes over to fist bump Basag Bungo "Two missions in a row - I see you brought your Lethal Cutlery again!" and heads towards the venture captain.
Advanced Alchemy
(□□□) Juggernaut Mutagen, Moderate
(□□) Blasting Stone, Moderate, one loaded in Weapon Siphon
(□□) Dread Ampoule, Moderate, one loaded in Dread Helm
Horn of Plenty w/ Provision
(□) Invisibility Potion
(□) Healing Potion, Lesser
Unless otherwise noted, everything above stored in Horn
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A rather emaciated and elderly goblin woman inspects the bombards and ammunition, followed by a slightly concerning-looking wolf wearing a riding saddle and thick leather 'armour' over its vitals. "Oh the children would love this place, it's like a little festival" - despite the faint raspiness like leaves blowing in the wind, she speaks with surprising gentleness and warmth, like an elderly kindergarten teacher about to read a bedtime story. Her sureness of step and confident upright posture seem out of place for her otherwise appearance old age.
Meeting the assembling group with her Wayfinder visible, she falls in with her fellow Pathfinders "I am Granny" she offers to no one in particular, broadly addressing the gathering "...and this is Hungry, he's a friendly dog, you can pat him, go ahead". The battle-scarred wolf looks entirely not friendly, and more inclined to rip off limbs than be petted by them.
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Third shakes hands with Fjorn using the upper right of their limbs and bobbles in the air once slightly as if bowing. They begin to speak, but stop, resisting the urge to explain who Thandar was and the importance of their theorems, most notably of course the Third. "Thank you, Fjorn. But worry not; this is not my first mission as a Pathfinder, and my magics and mental powers have proved sufficient so far. Not that I will be rushing forth into the breach, obviously," they finish with a laugh and Fjorn is sure that he hears the laugh both audibly and directly in his mind.
At Granny's introduction, Third bobbles in the air again in greeting. They opt not to pet Hungry, fearing that such a beast would likely find their small hands a bit too irresistible as a snack.