Nope! My wife gave birth to my first child a few weeks ago. I've basically been a shut in and haven't touched fourms at all for the last three weeks. I'm back from paternity vacation and at work now.
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Kinda an odd question, but I feel like with an Int of 18 and my behavior, Arthur would ask something unique.
Quietly agog, Arthur takes a long drag from his cigar before blowing it out of his nose in a pantomime of the extinct dragons of Ber. At first it is excitement that threatens to overcome the black-skinned man, before being quickly replaced by wary caution. Arthur had run with some dangerous folks in his time and there was an air about them. Lorcan had it, so did Saxby. Eyes narrowing, Arthur studied the Principal Minister Lee and considered what he knew carefully. One question, one question from perhaps the most knowledgeable man in the kingdom, the man who has sat next to the king and who has almost unlimited power by all accounts. Taking another slow drag, Arthur considered his options. Do I ask about me? What happened on the Hill? An explanation, perhaps? He would know after all, since it's common knowledge that the place is haunted. Shifting back and forth, Arthur listened as Gemma was the first to ask her question. Always rushing ahead love. Arthur thought, quirking a smile, before turning back to the task at hand. The others thought him rash... chaotic event. Arthur knew that was the truth of the matter. Perhaps he was, but he was also incredibly smart. It is what allowed him to survive on the streets, living hand to mouth. I could ask about Kell.. but that might be a misstep, I can't be sure that Baxter had it entered into my record. No.. no that would be a mistake. So what in the fething hells do I ask? Something random? No, it would be wasteful. Something about me, the minister might not know. So something about the minister then. It would need to be compact, pointed and direct. Simple and specific. Nodding to himself. Arthur cocked his head while he waited for a momentary break in the conversation. Minister, my question is this: Let's say back during the war I was working covert along the Dannor border in null-magic zone and I get a dispatch from you. For whatever reason I'm not sure it's actually you. Let's say that I think someone might be impersonating you. What's something I could ask to make sure it's really you sending the dispatch?
I'll have Arthurs question up today.. FYI, I think its going to do with Cauldron Hill.
Wow, getting to ask the Arch-Magi of a Kingdom a single question... thats a pretty cool boon!
Standing slightly off to the side, Arthur gave a self conscious tug at his long, dark grey jacket, mindlessly. The R.H.C. dress uniform had been based loosely on the dress uniform of The Kings 11th, commonly referred to as The Bridgeburners. On his left shoulder in embossed red was a patch that had a broken castle fractured in two. Rows of gold buttons ran down the front while, the bottom of his pants were matching dark grey with a piping of red, jokingly called a blood-stripe. Bloody, fething class A's Arthur murmured to himself, patting down his pocket for a cigar. They blasted fit too tight in all the wrong places. Sighing deeply, Arthur inclined his head at Inspector Delfts order. Right boss, keep quiet, look pretty and be discreet. I can make that happen. Sure is sure. Turning in the general direction of Principal Minister Lee. Arthur inclined his head. Arthur was no fool after all and knew that the man held real power. More than Saxby could ever hope to have. Putting on his manners, Arthur smiled respectfully. Minster Lee, a pleasure to meet you. I'm Arthur Wilde, formerly of the King's 11th, now assigned as a demolitions expert to the R.H.C.
Thanks for being understanding guys. My hand is slowly getting better and I can type a bit without much pain. I wanted to get in a post. For now I'm going to be keeping my stuff short, but I can tell that things are getting better!
Wiggling a soot covered pinky finger in his ear, Arthur sighs as his right drum finally pops with a head-rushing equalization. The world seems to spin for a moment and the demolitionist feels a rush of nausea before regaining his balance. Abruptly Arthur pats down his left and then his right pocket looking worried, before with a grin producing a slightly crumpled cigar. With a flourish the nettles born native stuffs the unlit tube in his mouth before quickly lighting it. The end burns coal red. Smoothly the man withdraws the cigar from his mouth and glanced at his hand. The shakes had worn off from the rush of excitement following the explosion. Lords was it work of art. So Chief, what's the word? We going to peacock or can I see about having a pint for a hard days work?
Fair enough, fair enough. Arthur murmurs in his Nettles accent while glancing at the other constables before letting his cool eyes slide to the door. Clicking his tongue in thought, Arthur examines the lock, then flashing a pearly white smile at Gemma, Arthur saunters over to the lock like a cat strutting and kneels. Excuse me, Love. The saboteur stated while unrolling a leather satchel at his side and easing a steel pick out from the roll. Benefits of a misspent youth, you could say. Arthur muttered, letting the steel slide into the lock as he finessed the tumbler. Click... Arthur stepped away, picking up the bundle of tools as he did so with a matter of fact nod at the others and motioning towards the door as if saying "After you."
I'll write something up.
Short range, cone base blast... interesting. Arthur notes as Anneca's blunderbuss belches flames, followed quickly by Emerson unloading a single shot into the remaining rebel. Acting just as quickly, Arthur already has a iron sphere in his hand and with a flick of the wick towards his cigar has the bomb hissing in ominous sputters. Glancing towards Willem and his shouted warning, Arthur scowls, before hurling the sphere at the dazed form of the remaining trator. Ting.. ting.. . Glancing at Willem again, Arthur frowns. Eh.. what was that Willy? My hearing aint so good. Arthur said with a chuckle. Blood outsider going to come to my city and tell me how to do my job? Bub's gotta nother thing comin, sure is sure.
Holding his overlook position atop the iron-wrought fire escape, Arthur cursed under his breath at the sudden, frantic recall order. By all the fething archfey! I just got atop this dammed building and now they are pulling us back! This had better be legit. Shaking his head in irritation, Arthur glanced down at the milling crowd now filling up Kings Square. Gritting an ever-present cigar in his teeth, Arthur lashed out at the iron ladder suspended from the escape and kicked it down with a clattering, rusting squeak, before quickly stowing his rifle and climbing down the side of the soot covered building. Dropping the last few feet from the ladder, Arthurs heavy boots splashed as he landed in a lingering puddle, spraying black, shimmering oil tinged water onto the hedge of his duster. People were packed tight into the square now. Some held flags while others processional pamphlets. Arthur ignored them.
After several tense minutes of pushing through the gathered crowd, Arthur reached the platform. His cigar had burned down to a nub, but it remained hanging from the saboteurs mouth as he wordlessly chewed on the end. As Inspector Delft motioned for the group of four-nine-nines, Arthur crossed his arms and stepped forward. Wordlessly, but with quick eyes, Arthur listened to Delfts urgent brief. Uniforms, explosives and a time-table. Worse and fething worse. Pulling the cigar from his mouth, Arthur spit on the ground. Inspector, you have my service record. You know what I was trained to do. This is in my wheel-house, so hear me out. What we are likely looking at is a static location ambush. Whoever the assailants are, they are operating on the assumption that the King will be in this square at a set time. Ideally we will be able to locate and neutralize whatever sabotage is planned, but you may want to consider delaying the Kings arrival in the event of a delayed-fuse explosive, set to go off upon his projected arrival. Glancing at the buildings that lined the perimeter of the square, Arthur frowned. It’s a lot of ground to cover, so we need to make smart choices. Explosives have a limited burst radius dependent upon how volatile the substance is. Secondary damage can be assured via aerosol release, but that makes the build more complicated. Ideally, if someone was setting an explosion it needs to be directly along the route, or within a reasonable ballistic distance of the target. If the assumption is a lone sniper, then the situation becomes more difficult to correct for, but it would need to have a clean line of sight to the King upon his exit from the Royal Coach.
Goal 2 is 2/3 done!
Scanning the massed crowd of people as they flood into the Royal Square, Arthur curses under his breath. This was no way to vet a crowd. S*@&, with Arthur's resources alone, he could have masked his appearance, sneaked into the gather, scaled a building and gotten a shot at the king before anyone else was the wiser. Orchestra stalls n' Mickey Bliss[/b] Arthur rumbled to himself in his Nettles burr. [i]Feth it. S@+!, can anyone here me? Abandoning the street with quick strides, Arthur took to high ground, scaling a iron-wrought fire escape that was attached to a building at the edge of the square. I'm going to high-ground, south side of the square, the fire-escape. I'll call out any targets I can see. Arthur passed over the link, while quickly unslinging his musket with a sure shrug of his shoulder and sighting the crowd down through the attached scope. And make sure that Wellingham knows I'm a friendly for feth's sake.
The milling masses stood upon the soot stained cobblestones ready to greet King Aodhan and his hangers on of the good and wise, or at least wealthy and fawning. Arthur tried not to scowl. He was better off then most and should be greatful for it, Archfey know, but the nettles in him was rubbed raw by mindless loyalty. Chewing on the damp end of his cigar, Arthur spat onto the street. It was one more stain on an already dark stone. Whatever, feth it.. Today I have a job to do. Besides, as far as Kings went, Aodhan dident seem so bad. Doing a mental inventory Arthur continued to silently scan the people waiting eagerly to be led into the procession. Standard load out, mix of subterfuge and demolition. One targeted serum, one blending serum as well and his chameleon elixer. Patting down his R.H.C uniform, Arthur felt the familiar weight of five Hi-Ex grenades. An officers truncheon was belted at his side while there was a old, bronze handled dagger from his army days in his left boot. Last but not least was the musket that Crux had gifted to him. Quite a prize. No doubt about that. Smiling to himself, Arthur pulled out another cigar lighting the end off the smoldering tip of the one still clutched in his teeth. A load out like this would have let Arthur have gone where he wanted back in the war. Slip through the lines and plant a delayed charge ahead of an advance or inside of an officers bivvy. But that was during the war... And this was peace.. Or whatever passed as such nowadays. Athur thought, glancing at the imposing iron plated hull of the R.N.S. Coaltongue.
Keeping his face quietly neutral, Arthur waited silently as Lady Inspectress Saxby doled out assignments and issued orders. Saxby had an air about here. A quality if you will. Arthur had seen it in other's before, most notability in Lorcan. A combination of charisma and ruthlessness. The air carried with it the impression that Saxby would brook no rivals or challenges. Arthur knew to step lightly, so it was with some wary thankfulness that he watched her depart. Best cover yer backside mate. Moving on, Arthur's eyes flickered between Assistant Chief Delft's briefing and the quick exchange between Constable's Summers, Hill and Atherton. Their questions and concerns held merit. The restriction on use of force was expected. Arthur lit another cigarette. Sounds pretty standard' Chief. Ident the crowd n' deal with any mal-contents. Keep it silent n' put on a good face for eh crowd. Nodding to the others, Arthur shifted his shoulders. Likely as not everything would be as smooth as fey-milk. That said, he would be ready otherwise.
Welcome!
Arthur watched the exchange unfolding between the various senior members of the constabulary and Gemma who was caught squarely between their sights. Arthur's eyes blinked slowly, the red glow of an ever-present cigar casting a harsh, red light on the sappers dark features. Arthur had Drake pegged, no doubt. Coin was no surprise either. But this was a battle that Gemma would have to face on her own if she wanted any respect from the others. Not my circus, not my monkeys. The man thought to himself as he nimbly rolled a steel ball over the top of his hand. It didn't matter that it was only a casing and not an actual grenade. They didn't know that. Half-smirking to himself, Arthur glanced up from the steel cylinder in the direction of Crux. Arthur never had the chance to thank the man for the Pemberton Model Ought-Nine that rested against the wall next to Arthur, but Arthur had seen a quick glance of approval when Arthur walked into the briefing with the firearm slung over his back and knew that words weren't needed. Not for people like Crux or Wilde. Silently turning back to the exchange, Arthur continued to roll the steel casing over the back of his hand in a silent but dexterous display. Arthur knew his talents and didn't need to hear the sound of his own voice to feel important. Besides, Arthur had learned growing up in the Nettles that hard words or idle boasting was for fools or cowards and Arthur was neither. If you mean to kill, you’re better getting right to it than talking about it. Talk only makes the other man ready, and that’s the last thing you want.
Eyes cold, Arthur watched Drake stalked out of the courtyard. Berkeley Hunt Yank. Arthur thought, falling back on the Nettles slang of his youth. Tries for the punk and can't take the reverse, feth him. Shaking his head slightly, Arthurs lip sneers up in the briefest of moments, before taking a deep breath through the cigarette and blowing the smoke out of his nose. The leaf calmed him. It wasn't as good as obscura, but he had gone legit and that was part of his past. Turning back to Josiah and Gaethan, Arthur tried fixing a smile on his face. It felt fake, but it was the best he can do. After all, Arthur had never considered himself a "people person". Briefly, the ebon skinned demolitionist considered Gaethan. Arthur had of course heard rumors about the half-elf's tracking ability and his as well as his so called communion with the spirits of the bleak. Barmy as a bandicoot was the phrase that Arthur had heard in reference to Gaethan. Rumors around the R.H.C. had said that the man had an experience on Cauldron Hill. Involuntarily Arthur shuttered. :: Swirling shadows, darker then night. A moonless sky. Fear.. fear so strong it left piss stains down Arthurs burlap trousers. The feeling of being hunted. Screams in the darkness. Coppery blood.:: No! Arthur blinked and shook his head. Get your crap locked down Arthur. All of this happened in the quickest of seconds before Arthur's face curled up in a grin. Arrogance was a shield and a dam good one at that, and Arthur wore it like his long duster. Shooting his right hand out behind him, thumb extended in the direction that Drake went, Arthur chuckled. Guess Drake can't take a joke, that's a real pity. Laughing to himself, the smile felt more natural this time. The confidence was back. Anyhow, Gaethan, loud is the point. Turning toward Josiah, Arthur pointed towards the blackened scraps of metal and wood that had served as a target. Shock and awe. Hit your target with a display of force that will paralyze your foes perception of the battlefield and destroy their will to fight. I'm actually working on an experimental grenade that will combine a concussive blast of sound with a blinding flash of light. Together it should temporarily blind and deafen a target. Eyes flashing in excitement boarding on obsession, Arthur grinned. Can you imagine it?
A bead of sweat ran down Arthurs back. His eyes were locked in Josiah's but he could see the fuse burning low from the corner of his eye. He knew he only had a few moments left. The tension was so thick in the room it could have been cut with Drakes brightsteel dagger. Arthur considered himself a gambler, but he had never been the best judge of character. It was hard to tell what Josiah's smile held. Was it a bluff or a call? Arthur blinked slowly. A call then. Flashing a razor-sharp smile, the black man nodded. The trap on the third. Shrapnel to take both the traps on the second and fourth too. Six No sooner was the words out of the demolitionists mouth, then he had pulled his arm back and with a quick but strong lob, threw the hissing steel sphere. Clang! Came the muffled sound of steel striking concrete as the ball bounced once, and then twice before landing in between the traps at the end of the third and fourth lane. Seven A hail of steel shard's and a clap like thunder exploded down range. Above the bombastic sound was a keening hiss of steel cutting the air and a black ring of firedust haloing outward from the center of the blast. Arthur smiled again as his nose scrunched up at the smell of firedust. The cigarette between his lips had all but burned down to a nub. He reached for another smoke. I love the smell of firedust in the morning.
[/ooc]The Marksman's Yard[/ooc] A bead of sweat ran down Arthurs back. His eyes were locked in Josiah's but he could see the fuse burning low from the corner of his eye. He knew he only had a few moments left. The tension was so thick in the room it could have been cut with Drakes brightsteel dagger. Arthur considered himself a gambler, but he had never been the best judge of character. It was hard to tell what Josiah's smile held. Was it a bluff or a call? Arthur blinked slowly. A call then. Flashing a razor-sharp smile, the black man nodded. Between the third and fourth lane. Shrapnel to take both traps. Six No sooner was the words out of the demolitionists mouth, then he had pulled his arm back and with a quick but strong lob, threw the hissing steel sphere. Clang! Came the muffled sound of steel striking concrete as the ball bounced once, and then twice before landing in between the traps at the end of the third and fourth lane. Seven A hail of steel shard's and a clap like thunder exploded down range. Above the bombastic sound was a keening hiss of steel cutting the air and a black ring of firedust haloing outward from the center of the blast. Arthur smiled again as his nose scrunched up at the smell of firedust. The cigarette between his lips had all but burned down to a nub. He reached for another smoke.
The fuse hissed and sputtered like an angry snake, as Arthur held it in his flame scarred hand while staring down at Josiah Crux's gun hand. It was pale white, unscarred and clean. And so very different from my own. The seconds seemed to stretch by. The small iron sphere felt cold. Arthur watched the men's reactions. Fight or flight a modern theorist had called it. Fight, flee or fawn. Arthur wasn't sure about that, but having grown up on the wrong side of the law in the Nettles, he had learned that when a confrontation arose, and it always would, you needed to strike first. He had seen it when he had ran with Kell and later when he enlisted in the Risuri Army. Power and authority required a pecking order and Arthur knew that if showed himself weak now, he would never live down that reputation. No it was better to be seen as wild then weak. Staring at Josiah's hand, Arthur almost smiled. Explosives are a dangerous thing Josiah. Unless you’re an expert you can never be sure what they can do. Pressure reactive, Corrosive, Oxidizers.. all of that and more. Shrugging, Arthur twisted his hand slightly and glanced at the metal sphere in his hand. Or this could simply be a harmless casing. But unless you’re an expert you can never know. Are you an expert Josiah? Arthur stated quietly starring into the man's eye. Three
Some things change, some stay the same. Arthur Wilde murmur to himself as he glanced at the grey, soot covered walls of the R.H.C. Headquarters in Flint. The black man took a final drag from his cigarette before flicking it onto the black-grey cobblestone gutter. The ash hissed as it hit the water. He never looked back. Sauntering upto the walls, Arthur pulled out his pack of leaf and tapped another cig out with him palm. An onlooker might have noticed the hand was pink and shiny at odds with his ebon face. The skin was pulled tight over the hand and white cracks ran along his fingers. Explosives could be a dangerous thing, even to their maker. It was a lesson that Arthur had learned earlier in life. Flicking his finger out, a spark lit the tube already hanging from his lip. He took a drag. Hands steady as a rock. Leather boots clicked across the stone. Arthur flashed his badge and kept walking. His trench coat spilled out behind him as he passed through the outer yard and into the inner courtyard and then through towards Assistant Chief Delft's office. looking at the note, Arthur frowned. He took another pull then grasped the cigarette in his left hand and nudged the note. A smoky haze rose up from his hand. Frowning, Arthur dropped the note back on the desk before turning back out of the office wordlessly. Lets call a boondoggle a boondoggle, eh?
Peacocks and poppenjays.. That was the phrase that came to Arthur as he spotted Josiah and Drake Preening, prettily. Flipping his hands outward, Arthur shrugged. He was handy with a musket, but firearms cost money. But then again, firearms weren’t his specialty. Explosives were. Frowning, Arthur turned to regard the three men. I'm a fair shot, but no, I've not been issued a firearm. But that’s not why I was brought on to serve.
Smiling faintly, Arthur turned his right hand in a quick gesture and whereas before it was empty, now it held a small black cylinder. Then, quicker than you can say "jack rabbit", Arthur had the fuse lit from the glowing end of the cigarette held in his mouth. One. No, Firearms are pretty, but there's more than one way to harvest firedust. Arthur said quietly, holding the grenade in his hand as the fuse hissed and sputtered menacingly.
Vord, character sheet has been updated to reflect the inclusion of the Saboteur Archetype. Working on more of my background now. I am going eschatologist, though I am taking a slightly different take on it.
It was the smell that first registered to Arthur Wilde, before he ever opened his eyes. Hydrogen sulfide gas or H2S for short. A clinical name for a unwholesome and dangerous byproduct of the Cloudwood paper mills. At least it ain't the Nettles. Arthur though to himself while rubbing the sand out of his eyes and blearily looking around his loft apartment. Now where the hell did I put my leaf? The dark skinned man grumbled to himself, while pushing himself out of the mattress that lay on the floor atop a few wooden pallets. Taking his first step, Arthur glanced down feeling a slight crunch below his bare foot. Dammit! it's always the last place you look. Sighing, the slight man sat back down on the mattress and grabbed one of the crushed cigarettes, before shoving it between his lips and lighting it with a quick flick of a phosphorus striker. Arthur closed his eyes. In hindsight it probably wasn't the wisest idea to be smoking with all of the compounds present in the flat, but the man would be dammed if he let fear rule him. After all, if growing up in the Nettles hadn't killed him, and the war hadn't either, then he would take his chances. Breathing out a thin stream of smoke, Arthur felt his morning headache disappearing. He glanced at his hand. It was smooth and steady. It was time to get up.
Vord, I want to take the (Saboteure) archetype in addition to Grenadier. I feel the synergy is really good and fits the campaign well. Let me know if I would need to burn a feat for the racial herritage option. http://www.archivesofnethys.com/ArchetypeDisplay.aspx?FixedName=Alchemist Saboteur Also, in place of the somewhat lackluster human favored class option, how do you feel about half-orc one that allows +1 additional bomb damage (not per dice, just flat), per 2 levels of the favored class bonus.
Great stuff Vord, I'll have my stuff done tonight.
Jolly good!
I am sorry, after thinking it though, I have decided to withdraw my application. While I love the concept of a water based campaign. I perhaps choose to bit off more than I chew. Again apologies.
Sorry mate, was not my intent. @OJR If Falashir wants to play I'm happy to dip out so that he can participate. Currently I am in 5 pbp's so it's ok, since I see that he is not currently in any.
This coming from the guy who has: Fort +12, Ref +5, Will +13Using Nature’s whisper: Use CHA instead of DEX for AC and CMD 10 first level spells (Zis can cast 5 1st level spells) 39 hit points (one less then Zissren) A Initiative of +8 (six more than Zis) Smite evil AND... Craft Wondrous Item so his starting gold spent on wondrous items is 17,000gp Fiddlers, I understand that the Lizardfolk Monstrous Race can be powerful. Knowing that I chose to reign in my choices in feats and classes. I feel that you are criticizing my character unfairly, especially so when I look at yours and see a ridiculous amount of min/maxing / triple classing and you have the gall to cry foul at me.
So for Zissren the stat breakdown is as follows: Strength 16 (14 pointbuy + 2 for racial) 5ptDexterity 14 (14 pointbuy) 5pt Constitution 14 (12 pointbuy + 2 for racial) 2pt Intelligence 12 (14 pointbuy - 2 for racial) 5pt Wisdom 18 (15 pointbuy + 1 stat for level 4 + 2 for magic item) 7pt Charisma 11 (11 pointbuy) 1pt Total points: 25pts. As for CR / Class levels of monsters I would take a look at Monsters as PC's Specifically Treat the monster's CR as its total class levels I think that 5 natural armor is very strong, but I couldn't justify losing two character levels for what it provides, especially so, since by taking a monstrous race I would be losing access to 3rd level spells. Let me know what you think. I spent a few hours working this guy up and I hate to scrap him, however if you are opposed to it, I do have a Elf Aquatic druid I was working up as well that wields a net and trident
@OJR: Good evening, Celeador here, with my submission. I told you before that it would be a surprise and I hope you like him... For your consideration Zissren Dagermaw Crunch:
Zissren Daggermaw CR 4 Male Lizardfolk Cleric 4 CN Medium Humanoid (reptilian) Init +2; Perception +11 --------------------
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Feats Armor Proficency (Light, Medium), Cleric Weapon Proficiency (Groetus: Heavy Flail), Shield Proficency, Simple Weapon proficiency, Improved Unarmed Strike, Domain Strike, Scribe Scroll Traits Dangerously Curious, Deft Dodger Skills
Languages Aquan, Draconic, Common Combat Gear:
Other Gear: Adventureing Gear - 163 gold
Wand of Cure Light Wounds (10 charges) - 150 gold
Gold on hand: 57 gold --------------------
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1st Level Spells: DC 15
2nd Level Spells: DC 16
I see Zissren as a support caster, focusing on touch attack debuffs to aid the party. He’s not afraid to move in and out of combat to assist the fighters, but his primary strength is by slowly bleeding his foes down, by forcing them to take massive negatives on their rolls and saves. I play to play Cleric the whole way, without dips. Strengths to Zissren include a beastly AC of 28, very solid saves and his ability to act as both a flanker in combat and provide solid buffs to the party. His Touch of Chaos with Domain strike combo can be very powerful and with a swim of 15 and a swim skill of +19, Zissren will be able to move easily though the water. Roleplay wise I selected the domains of madness and chaos, so don't expect Zis's to be mentally balanced or rational. If I have some free time tomorrow I will work on a back-story for him. Thank you for your consideration in my application. |