Following Carlins's adv, Bob scurried to the edge of the room before eyeing the agent tangling with Salazar. Taking aim, his musket begins to glow orange before a cone of fore shoots out, engulfing the red cloaked foe.
Burning Hands:5d4 ⇒ (3, 3, 4, 2, 2) = 14 Ref DC 18 for half
I'm sorry guys. I should never have signed up for this special. I thought I could handle just 1 game, but I was wrong. I'm willing to jump back in and try to finish this out if you'd like.
Taking aim at the closest statue, Bob fires a shot over the boar. "Don't take yer eyes off 'em." he calls out, trying to recall any weaknesses statues may have.
"Bobby Boom has 'em a way wit words. Gunna head o'er to the symposium challenge...then try me hand at sleuthin." he announces proudly. "Just aint purty nough fer them animals. Got me a face o'ly a mom kin love." he adds with a broad grin.
Following the signs towards the symposium, he stands awkwardly to the side for a moment before approaching the panel. Grabbing a stack of notes, he squints and studies the documents hard before pointing out a few words that don't translate well to orcish.
Sleuthing Perception:1d20 + 10 ⇒ (17) + 10 = 27
Breathing shakily, he takes a slow, deep breath to steady himself before speaking. "Aight. So o'er in that corner, yall find a big ole set of tweezers. Now, that were used ta pull out victims teeth...one by one. If ya look under the bed o'er yonder you'll find one tooth left behind." he begins, rattling on for what seems like forever. Finally finishing the last detail he recalls, he sighs. 'Well...not much fer big speeches but thinkin I's got 'er done.'
A dark skinned man wanders in, a large musket strapped to his back and a tome hanging from his hip. "'Ello all. I's Boom McCallister. Tis a pleasa ter meetcha." he announces to the table, looking around the room.
"Big ole shindig ta'day. Yall lookin ferwerd ta the speeches? Can't wait ter hear tales from da year."
1) Player name: RePete
2) Character name: Bob McCalister
3) PFS#-Character#: 126566-17
4) Character Class & Level: wizard 5/Musket master 1
5) Faction: Concordance
6) Regular or slow speed for chronicle: Regular
7) Perception and Initiative Bonus: Perception +10, Initiative +3
8) Spending a Replay Point?: no
9) Anything else I should know: I can reload a musket as a move and I can cast spells through a musket. When I cast through it, the DC of the spell is increased by 1. My musket is a bonded object.
His musket finally loaded, Bob quickly raises it to point at the imposter. "Time fer ya to become confet..." stopping mid-sentence as he sees everyone beginning to back down, the man frowns. "Aw shucks! Were bout ta get fun! Aw fine din."
"So, ya dun know yer name? Get hit on the head er sumtin? Dun make much sense fer ya to not be knowin your name."
With a shrug, he motions with the musket. "Go on den. Lets talk ta them big ole fishy."
Wiping tears from his eyes, Bob hauls himself back to his feet. "I be powerful sorry fer dat...It jess tickled me in the gibblets." explains the man.
Seeing the situation unfolding before him, he frowns. "Shaine, ya be insisten on bein a purple belly, eh? Well...I's gots sometin fer dat."
Setting to reload his musket, the man removes the stopper of his powder horn with his teeth. Powering in the estimated amount, he shoves in a pellet and begins to stamp it down. "Now, duncha be movin..."
A bit confused by the whole situation, Bob tries to figure it out...slowly. "So...erm, what happen to da Virml guy ya sent up here to copy down them scrolls he ruined?"
Slowly turning towards the croc, he adds "Iffen this is ya pet, gonna suggest you train him a wee bit betta..."
Lowering his musket at the dangerous foe as he steps into the room, the strange man tugs on the trigger. A bit of water sprays out, followed by a massive *BLAMMO*. "Ah, that gunna leave a mark..."
Quite taken with concern about his powder, Bob meanders along with the rest lost in his own mind.
Seeing his companions split and go in two seperate directions, he stops suddenly. "Ya dun think he's still up re-pennin them wet scrolls do ya? I mean iffen ta orignal 'Virml' were ours bad guy?"
A flash of fear crosses the mans eyes as he eyes the stairs leading downward. Petting his musket, the man coos "It's a gunna be ok. We'll getcha dry I promise."
Cautiously following the new toothless wonder, Bob asks bluntly. "So...my friends think you're Virml. But wes already met us a 'Virml' up yonder with them V.C.s. So...who is ya? How can ya 'splain the double? Gotcha a twin?"
"Well that twere a bloomin mess! Whatcha lookin at Razka?" inquires Bob as he quickly reloads. The man takes special care to keep it all above the water...causing a bit more difficulty than usual.
Smiling broadly, Bob raises his musket and takes aim. "Now be my turn ta join the shindig!"
Breathing slowly in...and out...in...and out, he gets the lady in glasses in his sights and slowly squeezes the trigger...**BaBOOM** rings out in the small room as a gout of flame blows out the end of his strange weapon.
Shaking his head to clear it, Bob looks around. 'Whats goin on 'ere? Wait wasn' I jess in the hall o'er there? OYE! We's a fightin!'
Raising his musket, he aims for the strange woman. "Yas needin ta learn you sum manners, m'lady! I...." trailing off as he sees the water glistening off his musket, he frowns. "Ruttin...dun messed up me powder! That aint gun do me no good."
Quickly the man empties the barrel and sets to reloading it. Tugging the stopper from the powder horn, he dumps a few grains down the barrel and begins packing his wad as he returns the stopper.
Holding a finger up, he advises "Be witcha in a moment."
Bob continues to slosh along behind the tree, trying to ensure they don't miss anything. As his soggy navel continues to quiver in the cold waters, he glances towards the upper branches of his guide longingly.
'Wonder iffen I could 'fford one of 'em ta carry me 'round these parts nextime...'
Sticking with the tree of light and monkey of confusion, Bob wanders along, silently feeling useless as he holds his rifle over the ever deepening water-line.
"Ya seein anything of note up there lassie? How's about them parchment o'er yonder?" As the chill rises up to his navel, the man shivers. Hoisting his powder horn and musket higher. "I been thinkin...we's runnin outta time."
Suddenly realizing he's without a source of light, Bob turns back to the group. "Oye! Wes kin go whicheva ways fine. Was jess a thought."
Shaking his head, he adds "If the lass wants ter head north first, ya just need ter speaks up." Quickly reloading his musket, taking care to keep the powder dry, he falls in line behind Dawn.
"Ah, da pretty be a Voidworm me thinks. Dem be able ta overcome electrification an sounds...crafty devils the lot. They kin change shapes and stuffs." he announces to the group.
"Pretty lil bugger...no can get a good angle...lessee..." grumbles the man as he sloshes through the water, holding his musket high in the air. Making his way to a shelf, he tries to scale it for a better angle.
Overly excited by the puppet show, Bob fails to contribute much to the rest of the conversation with the giant fish, awaiting more puppets to appears. As the group heads back down, he frowns. "I reckon duty calls. Mayhaps ya show me some more puppets later, yeah?"
Glancing towards the parchment, he rubs his chin. "Oye! So a poem be da key? Interestingly...."
Having little else to add, he rubs his musket and continues to wade through the water along with the group. Making sure to hold it above the waves for fear of ruined powder, he keeps a watchful eye ahead. "HEY! We's not wanting ter corpsify iffen we don't hafta! Show yourself and wes can talk bout it." calls out the man.
