"We need to get some kind of specialist in here to look at this," Baxter said, "C'mon, let's finish up the rest of the building."
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"That's bad right? I mean, it sounds bad or at least very, very not good," Baxter asks, looking a bit pale at the prospect of so much magic. He did not like magic and he definitely did not like it in large quantities.
"Could try to blow the lock from a safe distance and see if that sets off the trap," Baxter offered, hefting his shotgun. "'Course the trap might be room wide, or the lock might just jam."
Sorry, Granny took a bad fall, been busy with that.
Any way we could get the current map posted in the campaign description or something?
"If someone is in here with us, we should go for the locked door first. If they're paranoid enough for traps, they'll be locking every door," Baxter said, eyeing the locked door.
"Data? Odd choice of words," Baxter said scratching his head in thought. It was a word he had not head bandied around on this particular plane of existence all that often, much less in reference to anything like a building. He had never made much of an effort to explain just where he was from to the others so he let that line of thought die for now. "Regardless, I doubt this is a message from our current boss. Otherwise she would have sent one of the others to get us instead of sending a suspect mental missive. I say we keep going. Maybe there is a wannabe mage squatting further in," in reality, Baxter's mind was spinning with possibilities but he did not feel like trying to explain his limiting understanding of quantum theory. He had certainly seen thing more outlandish than time travel in his time here so he was not about to discount it.
There was no hiding the yelp this time as Baxter barely managed to grab the lip of the pit and save himself from the fall in. Pulling himself up onto stable ground he looks down into the depths. "Garrak? Groan is you're alive down there."
Doing alright, gonna be doing my part for the local legal system tomorrow.
"Who does that?" Baxter said, coughing to cover what was likely an embarrassing yelp of surprise.
"Hmm, structural damage, neglect, a shame to see a sturdy building like this going to rot," Baxter notes before moving to the locked door. He did not want the ceiling to collapse on him if he opened the door wrong.
"Let's try it," Basher says, and takes his time with the skeleton key. The tumblers in this lock were more finely machined than the last one but he was sure he could get the key to catch properly.
"We could muscle this open pretty easy, and by 'we' I mean Garrak with a bit of help," Baxter said, reloading again, "And if you give me a minute I could probably get that door unlocked with the skeleton key."
Another spent casing clatters to the floor as Baxter reloads and fires on the creature attacking Straehan.
Baxter pulls his leg free from the beasty's teeth and takes a limping step back. Ejecting the spent shell, he slams a fresh one home and fires again, peppering the mangy curs with hot pellets.
Baxter lines the barrel of his weapon up on the nearest to the scrawny looking things and fires.
I'm saving up to craft a double-barreled shotgun so every silver counts but I support keeping the oil of animate rope.
Baxter catches the key and tries it on the western door. A twist and a click later and Baxter's eyebrow went up. "I was not expecting that to actually work. Much easier than kicking it in."
That would be very useful.
"They hired a bunch of mercs to clean this place up. If they were overly concerned about the state of their leftovers, they would have checked this place themselves," Basher said, "We'll hang on to it unless they show us a manifest of expected items. Let me try that skeleton key Garrak."
"Get'em punchy!" Basher says trying to finally put a slug in the spider.
Basher, fueled by desperation, grabs Garrak's shoulder and attempts to pull him back and away from the spider's mandibles. "Straehan, give us a hand! He's almost free!"
Flicking his shotgun open, the spent shell fires out and clatters to the floor and he slips another round into the breech. Taking cover behind the more armored Garrak, he fires his shotgun from around the half-orc's side.
"Gah!" Basher exclaims as stray webs catch on his clothes. He drops the knife and brings his shotgun to bear
Basher pulls out a knife and tries to start cutting the webbing but in his haste and nervousness ends up merely covering the blade with webs.
"I thought the dog-thing did it," Basher says stepping through and sweeping the corners with his shotgun.
"Well that was messy. I almost pity the ugly thing," He saunters over to the door and tries it, "And... locked. Well, we kept the portcullis intact, you think they'll be angry if we smash a smaller door?"
"Probably best to just leave it for now. We could smash it down but the guards would probably like this place mostly intact," Basher said, unslinging his shotgun again and taking point on their jolly patrol.
"I don't think it is going to budge," Basher says after a minute of trying to lift the damned thing, "Let's look for a way around."
Basher checks and rechecks his shotgun as the move, a nervous habit of his, as he moves into the hallway. "Keep an eye on things, I going to check that portcullis," Basher says. He was good with simple machines and this city certainly had a lot of them.
"Hmm, interior space... vermin... probably won't want holes everywhere..." Basher muttered to himself as he set the case down on the table top and popped it open. The interior was padded and contained the burnished metal of his shotgun. It, much like its owner, was compact and carefully maintained. Blunderbusses were occasionally seen throughout the city but compared to those, this was a refined piece of equipment. It looked more like a musket than anything but the barrel was shorter than most muskets. He checked over the belt of shells that was tucked into the case as well before wrapping it around his waist. Slinging the weapon over his shoulder he looked to the others, "Scones then? Raspberry, right?"
"Will I need to be armed for the scones too?" Basher asks. He is, as usual, tinkering with some sort of complex device. A light flickers on dimly in the recesses of the hard shell as he twists a pair of wires. Giving a small hand crank a few turns, the device let out a tinny shriek before there is a spark in the recesses. The light fades out again. "Damn," he breathed, and packed the device away again. He stood and grabbed the hefty rosewood case containing his weapon of choice. While most in this strange city did not seem to think much of carrying weapons out in the open but Basher liked to maintain an air of civility when not on the clock. He was not much to look at, really. Shorter than Garrak, certainly, and lankier. Handsome on a good day, tolerable on a bad day. He kept better hygiene then most of the locals, washing daily with lightly scented soaps he made himself. When he first arrived, he had spent a lot of time sick as he adjusted to the minor maladies everyone else had already developed immunities to and had no interest in contracting anything harsher.
For the Emei piercer, the damage should remain at what is listed until you get Close Weapon Mastery at 5th level.
Point of interest, our social skills are intimidate and bluff. Are we okay with scaring and lying our way through things? I've done it before but it can be tricky at times.
Alright, so our terrible trio is composed of a Brawler/Fighter ex-Guard, a Monk/Sorcerer, and a Gunslinger/Slayer
Alright, things should be cleaned up for you now.
Yeah, I'll keep an eye on my inbox
You still there boss?
Basher did not necessarily know more about crowds but people made way for him more readily than they would of for Arthur. In his youth, he had gotten into more than a few fights with more than a few of the people here and they still remembered the bruises he had given them. Even now, when his mother did business, he was often sure to stop by later and have a chat with those she did business with. With certain people he was someone to avoid. Basher unslung his club again and leaned on it when they made their way to the dummies. Here, he, supposed, the recruits would actually display their talents for Gohren.
Basher knew enough about metal and seen enough demonstrations to follow along in the conversation. Some of it was a little outside of his experience but Arthur rarely had to explain a concept to him more than once. He understood metal stress and heat interactions well enough and could offer ideas on reducing weight or increasing durability but beyond that was solely Arthur's domain. When Arthur tripped up, Basher waded through the others put himself in the way of the other recruits. Being perhaps the largest one in the crowd he parted them rather effectively while Arthur collected his things. Keeping an eye on his friend had been a duty of his ever since his mother had forced him to sullenly agree to helping Arthur translate some old texts. In the end, once he got through Arthur's awkwardness the two of them rapid became friends. Birds of a feather and all that.
"No sir, I know when I'm beat," Basher said as he rolled the club onto his foot and kicked it up into his waiting hand. Stepping back into the ranks of the recruits, he joined Arthur's side and rested an arm on the shorter boy's head. "You ain't gonna give it a shot Arty?" He asked, "I bet that contraption of yours could knock the old man on his arse." He had seen Arthur's device a few times in operation but never tried it himself, not after one of the precursor models had exploded when the trigger was pulled. Basher's weapons may be brutish in comparison but at least they did not run the risk of driving shrapnel into his face. Basher stole a surreptitious glance at Asa. He had figured out Gohren's goal as soon as the subject was brought up and volunteered to get the inevitable demonstration out of the way but a loss was a loss and still rather embarrassing. If anyone else stepped up to fail as well, he would feel a bit better about it.
Improved Feint, a frontliner rogue's best friend
Fient bluff check as a move action:
Basher looked to his right and then to his left there were a few familiar faces in the crowd, Arthur and Asa among them. He stretched some and rolled his shoulders, realizing most were backing away from Gohren. "Alright," he spoke up finally. "Will this go quicker if I martyr myself?" Stepping up to the older man's challenge Basher pulled a hefty looking club from his back and gave it a few practice swings. "Go easy on me old man." He knew what Gohren was doing, of course. He wanted to demonstrate to the prideful young men and women of the town that they did not know a damn thing about fighting. He hefted his club and darted forward, swinging low but quickly recoiling, pulling the club toward his chest and thrusting it forward instead.
Knowledge Local:
Coolio, we ready to launch this thing now?
Blast, oh well.
2nd level health:
Other than that, I'm ready to go
Week 1:
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