Asmodia Voralius's page

Grabbing her cutlass, Asmodia would grin over to Lorelei before speaking up, loud enough to be heard by those around her, putting on her best Chelaxian airs.

"Right lads, there's plunder a plenty over on that ship, there to be taken by the bold and the brave, all ours for the taking. Besmara herself looks favourably on raids like this one, provided you all show some balls and take what's offered!

And should you find yourself on a much bigger ship, surrounded by many fine wenches and with a cool breeze on your face, then do not worry, for you are onboard the Seawraith, and already dead!"

"What did you expect big guy. To get some huge two-handed sword that you could just stroll around with on the deck?"

Asmodia's tone is just a little derisory.

"There's quicker and easier ways to commit suicide, Malack."

With no one ordering her to continue scrubbing the deck, Asmodia would watch the ship on the horizon and utter a quiet prayer to Besmara, asking for good hunting today.

Well well.. another ship on the horizon might just keep me out of scrubbing the decks for another day.

Asmodia would rise up from her scrubbing duties and wait for an officer to appear, before shouting over to them.

"Orders sir?"

With nothing available that Asmodia could really hide, or she'd want to risk losing if discovered, she'd leave her items behind and get out of the room.

With the sudden appearance of Grok, Asmodia would quickly memorise the key points in the letter she found, then clear out, not grabbing any gear.

Yikes. Congratulations! That's quite an understandable reason for the absence!

Asmodia would head over, rearranging her shirt to make sure the dagger is hidden as well as possible.

"If you find my healers kit, I could do with getting the bottle of disinfectant out of it."

She'd then quickly describe what the bag looked like to Urk.

"Crimson, honestly. You should know that having a weapon on you is a quick way to get lashed."

Asmodia's voice would take on a disapproving tone as she slips the dagger into her shirt, trying to keep it hidden.

"Anyway, your arm's healing up nicely. Keep it clean, and this cloth clean and you should be fine. I could do more if I had my healers kit."

"Try not to take a swing at the captain, Malack. I'd not like to imagine what punishment he'll come up with for that."

Moving over to Cog and sitting on the mentioned barrel, Asmodia would unwrap his bindings and check on Cog's arm again, looking to see if it's infected while speaking to the man.

Heal Check:
1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27

"Well, if he killed a man, then good riddance to him. No sympathy in that case."

She'd quite openly be looking over Cog's arm, making herself available for any other crew members nearby who might have something wrong with them.

"You're wanting to get weapons? That's a quick way to a keelhauling if they find those on you, Malack. I'll keep an eye out though."

In order to look busy, Asmodia would move over to Cog again and ask to check on his arm while keeping an eye on the officers, in particular the quartermaster.

Muttering under her breath, Asmodia would move up to the side of the ship after the remains of Jakes were tossed overboard, speaking in a solemn tone that was loud enough to be heard by anyone nearby.

"We commit his body to the sea, in the hopes that he might find his eternal rewards in the world beyond, be in in the Pirate Queen's embrace or whomever he followed in life."

Then, quietly.

"Sorry about the lack of treasure.. I'll see what I can do later."

Following on from her service, Asmodia would look around to see where the Quartermaster was, with a mind to getting her healers kit back.

Asmodia, while taking in the morning breeze and bright sun, would look to see who's staying back from the keelhauling, and who's eager to get involved.

Further, working on the assumption that everyone would be on deck for this, she'd try and count exactly how many people are onboard.

After a wonderful nights sleep, Asmodia would be woken only by the angry voices coming from above deck. Falling out of her hammock, she'd quickly follow Lorelei up topside, not wanting to be late for duty despite her exhaustion.

"Asmodia Voralius is my name, which may answer your question as to where I'm from."

She speaks casually as she examines the wound, concentrating on it.

"Yes, I'm Chelaxian. So I guess I'm next for the lash if I even look as if I'm being disloyal. Wonderful. As for why I'm here.. well, I got press-ganged with these lot." Pointing around the room at Lorelei, Malack, Urk and Sjurd. "Most annoying, given that I was looking for a ship anyway."

"Also, this is going to sting."

Trying to block off the view from the rest of the sailors, Asmodia would take some of her rum and splash it over the messy looking wound, using the alcohol to disinfect it. After which, she'd grab the cloth and hold it firmly around Cog's arm, looking for some string with which to tie it on.

I'm still up for 2 posts a day.

Diplomacy Check
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19

Taking on a slightly caustic tone, playing the role of the harsh doctor rather then the caring nurse.

"Well Crimson, it's a good thing I've little pity for people who throw themselves into the way of a whipping. Now, let me check your wounds so that you don't endanger the ship tomorrow and get the rest of us fresh meat into trouble."

Heal Check to inspect the wounds
1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9

Leaving Malack and Sandara to their conversation, Asmodia would head over to the injured man and the halfling woman. Maybe I can do some good here, at least.

Putting on her best commanding Chelaxian airs, she'd try and lift the cloth off the injured man's forearm.

"Just what did you do to receive a punishment like this? Here, let me have a look, I'll see what I can do to ease the pain."

Asmodia would laugh a bit as the Goblin lectures her, taking another sip of her rum.

"You'd be surprised what you can get simply by asking for it, and given how goblins tend to consider a roof 'posh', I'd prefer not listening to you for advice on social interaction."

Seeing Urk head over to the Quartermaster, Asmodia would decide not to talk to her just now, looking around the hold for any new recruits keeping to themselves.

Perception Check
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

Thanking the sailor for the drink, Asmodia would try to appear fine, even though she felt utterly exhausted after the hard days work, the sun starting to tan her pale skin.

"Please, call me Asmodia. Formality doesn't befit a cleric of Besmara, after all."

Taking a sip of the strong rum, a thought would occur, and she'd ask the sailor who gave her the rum a question.

"Say, you don't happen to know where the Quartermaster's room is? I could do with getting some of my personal items back.."

Constitution Check
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

Far harder work then Asmodia would ever have been used to, she struggles to keep up with the pace and slips behind, becoming exhausted.

"Besmara asks many trying things of us, sir." Trying not to flinch away from the rather obvious intimidation and horrible gums, Asmodia would get to work scrubbing.

Asmodia would happily shake Sandara's hand, using the opportunity to take the offered holy symbol and quickly put it away.

"Thanks for getting this back. I'd have been most annoyed if this had just been pawned off to some fool onboard."

Nodding along to Sandara as she continues speaking, trying not to flinch too much at the sight of the sailor suffering the lash. "You're right, we should take this on a day by day basis.. and try and avoid that lash."

Great. Stuck as a swab. Hardly work befitting a Chelaxian when surrounded by people such as these, but it's better then being thrown overboard. Just about.

After listening intently to Mr Plugg, nodding at all the right spots and appearing accepting of her role, Asmodia would turn to the attractive woman who whispered to them and casually approach her.

"You wanted to talk? Don't mind the big man, he's like this with every woman."

Asmodia would listen carefully to Malack's words, then turn to Lorelei and roll her eyes, before turning back to the warrior.

"Well, thanks for the warning, but I'm sure I can look after myself around the crew. As for getting weapons, I'd be quite amazed if we can obtain such things, at least for now."

Then, once everyone's spoken, she'd slowly work her way down the rigging.

Taking 10 on the climb check to get back down. No rush!

Moving normally up the rigging
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 = 10

"Honest questions being greeted with honest answers. This is pleasing to me, I must say." Asmodia would try not to flinch at the sight of the swabs feeling from the whip, well aware of the need for discipline onboard a ship such as this. Her voice would stay as calm as possible while speaking, eager to impress.

Turning her shoulder to Mr Scourge, Asmodia would tug down her top, showing off her left shoulder and the skull and crossbow's tattoo there.

"I'd guess you seadogs know what this means.. and if you give me back my gear and pendent, you'll have a cleric of the Pirate Queen onboard to help with the healing."

Asmodia calmly looks straight back at Mr Plugg as he approaches, not flinching from his gaze.

"Yeah, I've got a question. When do we hit our first ship and get some loot?"

Int Check
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20

Knowledge Nature check (Untrained)
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

Looking around the vessel as she reaches the deck, Asmodia would grin just a bit, tasting the salty sea air on her tongue.

"Not a bad ship, Scourge. You could have simply asked for me to serve on it, rather then resort to press ganging.."

Rolling her eyes at Malack's comment, Asmodia would stride out of the cell and onto the deck of the ship without any complaint, keeping her eyes on the pirates sent down to greet them, sizing them up.

GM Singer, what do you think to letting Clerics of Besmara use the Cutlass, rather then the Rapier, as their favoured weapon? The Cutlass seems to fit a Pirate Deity a lot more, and is actually less useful then a Rapier.

"Mine as well. I'd imagine that our captors wouldn't want us armed when they greet us. We'd be best off staying calm until they arrive, but until then, is anyone wounded?" Asmodia's voice is calm and measured as she speaks, leaning against the wooden wall.

"Is everyone tasting copper, by the way?"

Her words are cut off by the sudden arrival of the rays of the burning mother, growling a little as the whip lashes out against the bars.

Fort Save
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16

Now fully awake thanks to the light and the sound of the whip against the bars, Asmodia would walk calmly over to those bars and onto the deck when allowed.

Slowly rising from her sleeping position, Asmodia would rub her hands over her forehead, trying to recover a bit from the hangover, before checking herself over for any other wounds.. or for any of her gear that's been left.

She then notices the swaying, and that annoying, coppery taste in her mouth that won't go away, trying hard to place where it's from.

Question. Given the introduction to the campaign (i.e. being press-ganged), would I even have the time to gain the spells for the day, given that clerics need one hour praying to get them? I don't mind if I don't get any, as I reckon that'd be more fitting for the scenario we find ourselves in.

Asmodia's trait 'Shackles Seafearer' gives her a bonus to Knowledge (geography) and Knowledge (nature) on the Ocean, so I could put a point in one of those and get that trained.

Huzzah. Ready to come aboard.

Asmodia Voralius, Cleric of Besmara, reporting in.