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So I wanted to apologize for my lack of activity. I've been working lots of 12 hour days and I haven't had a day off in two weeks. I think I'll be able to get things settled down soon, but for now, please bot me as needed. I will try to post as I can.
I'll admit, I'm at a bit of a loss for what to do here. I really have a hard time with player conflict. I had a few clever ideas for how to cover up what we're doing here, but none of it works with the player characters working directly against each other. Arguments aside about whether we should be harassing this individual or not, is there a world where the dwarf and the elf actually cooperate as part of a cohesive party at this rate? I'm really, really, really against PVP action of any kind and really would prefer an OOC discussion before we start attacking or calling guards on each other. As a side note, are drow not known about in the setting? In most settings there is severe racism against them and this situation could easily be spun as capturing a dangerous enemy.
Yeah I'm not sure I intended Alfgeir to take it as far as he did but I just kind of rolled with how events were unfolding. We didn't manage to get a glimpse of the person through all this? lol
Wide-eyed the young half-elf drops the stranger, looking somewhat confused.
The young half-elf looks almost lost through the whole situation. Stuttering and stammering but unable to really explain how they're not in the wrong and they mean no harm, but also holding on to the stranger with a naive strength. Outside, still holding on to the stranger, he looks wide-eyed at the older members of the group. "Uh... what.."
The young half-elf looks on curiously, unsure about the dwarf's tactics but supportive of his companion. He mumbles almost to himself. I didn't realise we were quite that friendly. With a shrug, Alfgeir stands ready to jump in if the creature tries to run or retaliate in any way.
I want to see where this goes first but Alfgeir can cast Tongues if needed. lol
The young half-elf frowns slightly before returning to his characteristic grin and gesturing widely toward himself and his two companions, nodding vigorously. "We... friends!"
A young half-elf bursts into the bar, out of breath and with a wide smile on his face. He looks around for a moment before spotting Logram and moving smoothly over. "Hey Uncle. Sorry I'm late, I ran into an old friend and... well, I lost track of time." Alfgeir casually takes a seat and turns his infectious grin on the stranger. "Who's your friend?"
I've been sick. Sorry! I'll get a post in today sometime.
I'm not too sad about a slower pace if you need. I'll be here either way. :) Edit: I think the plan is to rest and set out in the morning with us hiding in the wagon and Uncle driving it alone.
The young half-elf happily follows Grimlak out of the tavern, intent on joining him in his mission. "We have to find just the right wagon for uncle to drive. We might need some fake cargo too! Maybe something soft so it's not too uncomfortable to hide in..."
"Hah! I want to see the look on the bandits' faces when a fully armored dwarf with two shields leaps from their victim's wagon and confronts them!" The young half-elf chuckles aloud with a mirthful grin. "So... who has a wagon?"
I'm definitely ready to move on when you guys are. I've never been a huge fan of hanging out in taverns (in game or IRL). I'll have a lot more interesting things to write once things are in motion. :) Definitely bandits for my vote. We can see about the others depending how that goes later.
The half-elf leans back with a casual grin. "There'll be a story to tell whatever we do, no doubt!" He gives the mismatched group a wry wink. "I just hope someone else doesn't steal our adventure while we're running errands!"
I think for the sake of the GM's sanity we should maybe choose one task to go after? lol
"Hah! Hah! I hear ya, boy. A musty old tomb isn't really your style, is it? Lots of strange smells and not enough food, huh?" The young halfelf grins as he reaches down to scratch the wolf behind the ears thoroughly. Alfgeir's eyes sparkle as he looks up at the others. "It looks like Knick Knack is voting for the bandits as well. Should we pretend to be a lonely merchant and see if we get ambushed?"
Runia, do you know that the gameplay thread is live? I guess nobody announced it. Heh. I'll try to get a post up myself tomorrow.
The young half-elf looks confused. Not in his facial expression. No, he's certain, optimistic, eager. It's his appearance. His fire-red hair and sideburns give a strong indication of his relation to the native Vikmordere which contrasts somewhat with his lithe elven features. But that's not really the issue, either. It's, well... most Vikmordere who settle in the city adopt the more comfortable, affordable and readily available clothing of the more civilized people there. They're drawn by the idea of an easier life and they dress the part to try to fit in. Most of them, anyway. Despite being born in Iron Bay, Alfgeir manages to be one of the few exceptions. Though exceptionally clean and a lot more put-together than your typical Vikmordere, the half-elf blatantly broadcasts his human heritage. Wearing furs, displaying tribal tattoos on his arms and carrying his father's huge sword, he looks like he would belong in the wild if his attire wasn't prioritizing style over function a bit too much. Those who know Alfgeir, know that he's never really been on his own in the wild. Fortunately, he's fairly useful in other ways, so his friends let it pass. Sitting at the table, the half-elf grins at the dwarf, his eyes shining with eagerness. "Who knows what we could find? Ancient relics? Weapons once wielded by long-dead heroes? And imagine the stories they'd tell about us if we had to face down the undead spirits of my people to earn those relics? Let's do it!" His tenor voice has the quality of a young man who is purposely lowering the pitch in order to sound more mature.
There's an Oracle archetype that's like a better version of the whole shaman class. That might be the way to go. Shamans can't remove diseases.
I think two wands is a smart idea because that leaves us flexible to both be able to use them. As far as the cohort, I definitely recommend something with the cleric spell list so he/she can cure all the conditions. Have you looked at the Succor Mystery? Makes for a cool teamwork-oriented healer. My instinct is that a spontaneous caster will be easier to manage, as well. Edit: Just because she earned that title doesn't mean she has to use it :P Also, I think my crunch is fully done now.
I'll hold the wand unless you guys think it's better on the druid. Also, are we an established adventuring group in this scenario? We are level 6, so we could be.
This is Lazyclownfish's character. I still have some tweaking to do and I plan to write up the background tomorrow night. The basic idea is that he's something of a thrill-seeker but for him it's always more about the story than the actual moment. He's Logram's nephew and probably quite often returns from hunts with his father, Halvar, just to rush over to his uncle's place to share in a drink and tell the extravagant(and probably somewhat embellished) story. There will also be a little bit of trouble in his background relating to his mixed breed and getting along with the townsfolk, but he's learned to shrug it off. He's looking for adventure and always talking about the next big challenge. He'll be overly brave and call for bold plans, but he won't pull the party into trouble unless they let him. I'll make sure he behaves if you guys propose a more careful strategy than he'd like. I'm fine with starting as soon as you want if it's ok that I'm still putting in the finishing touches.
At Merlovaur's bold approach, the whole room goes quiet, everyone staring intently at their cards or at the dice, or anywhere but at the crowd in the middle of the room. "Deference?!" the big man exclaims, an incredulous look on his face, before letting out a deep belly laugh. The rest of his entourage joins in immediately, filling the room with the roar of laughter, though few others join in. When the laughter dies down, Balabar gives the elf a greasy smile, still sitting in his chair. "Apologize? I won't. But you might want to apologize." The fat man nods over toward the nine-foot tall half-ogre bouncer walking slowly, deliberately toward the conflict. "To Kurlag..."
Balabar Smenk, having previously shoved past Bedlam, ignoring his entreaty, chuckles aloud at the subtle (for a dwarf) insult. "Dwarves are very direct, it seems. It's not a bad quality. Easier to figure." The fat man mumbles, "If Dourstone didn't have a monopoly on you folk, I'd probably hire a few. Maybe I'll try anyway," he concludes to himself with a shrug. "As for you, elf," he spits, his voice practically dripping with scorn, "why don't you go play with Moonmeadow at Lazare's. I don't need a silly game to know I'm better than you." The other two elves in the room go unnoticed, thankfully. The Sheriff and the various lackeys launch into raucous laughter at Balabar's insult. The fat man joins them after a brief, angry scowl toward Queslin. The room quietly returns to their games, pointedly ignoring the ruckus in the middle of the room as Balabar and his entourage find nearby seats to wait in. It also seems like rats were brought out during the commotion and placed in the four entry areas to the maze. The Rat Game is starting soon!
You smell him before you see him. It's not an unfamiliar smell. Everyone in town recognizes the poignant, one-of-a-kind "cologne" of Balabar Smenk. It's not the worst thing you've smelled, but it is absurdly aggressive. The balding, obese man wobbles up the stairs amidst a mismatched crowd of thugs and town guardsmen. And just behind him is a tall, scowling man with long, dark hair... Sheriff Cubbin. A man so renowned for corruption that many citizens assumed the announcement of his commission was a joke... until he started arresting people. The whole room goes still at their entrance. Balabar nods politely at Kurlag, who stands watching impassively, and swaggers through the room with a lordly air, he and his thugs knocking into patrons and furniture alike, though no real harm is done. "Zalamandra, you look beautiful as always," the big man announces in his wheedling voice as he approaches, a lecherous smile plastered to his face. The Lady, to her credit, has an air of confident grace, unperturbed by the abrupt interruption. "Balabar, what a... pleasant surprise. What brings you to my establishment? We're not used to seeing you and yours on Waterday. Is this a special occasion?" Zalamandra smiles pleasantly at the pair and their entourage. "Indeed it is!" Balabar exclaims, gesturing to the men with him. "We're here to honor what will be a long lasting friendship! Nothing less than the Veiled Corridor could suit the occasion. I expect that won't be a problem?" The fat man's slimy grin makes it fairly clear that he isn't really asking. Zalamandra maintains her pleasant smile. "Of course not. Give me a moment to prepare the girls. I expect we'll hold to our usual arrangement?" Though, she doesn't wait for a response before swaying sensually toward the stairs and up to the Corridor. It's fairly clear she isn't asking either. Two of the most powerful men in town stand leering or scowling around at the room, surrounded by muscle. Nobody is all that happy about it. Ferdrin:
Chezabet returns a sad smile at your question,
shaking her head slightly, though the interruption prevents a real answer. Knowledge Local DC 15: |
