Take as much time as you need. I'll be here when you get back ;>
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Bonegrit's face washes over with a grimace at the sight of Banthorl. He's quickly able to piece together the man has been in a scrap. Worse still, he's sharp enough to know that he and his are likely responsible for the scuffle. The ranger turns and halts his companions where they stand, gesturing for Lhairik to pass him the torch. As he does so Bonegrit straightens up and approaches within twenty paces of the recently beleaguered hermit. Holding up a hand, the half-orc calls out firmly, "It's true we're back, but I don't figger we're the "we" you think. We shared dinner and a few moments to speak of mushrooms, and. . . other things." Bonegrit kneels down and stabs the torch into the ground. He begins rifling through his rucksack for something, and it becomes clear shortly what the young ranger is fumbling for. A small vial of crimson fluid, the same Alagor had offered him scant nights prior, rests in the grip of Bonegrit's right hand. "Ya look a little worse fer wares. This should help get yer arm back to workin', then ya can point yer pig-sticker at me with a proper menace, yeah?"
Replaced arrows in Bonegrit's quiver as well.
I think there's way too much thematic appropriateness for Pyotr to not put the glaive to work, personally. The Bellknight swinging a weapon with a pitch magical effect, who is also a Redeemer who prefers killing as a last resort. And don't worry about the loot spread—it goes well on sandwiches.
"Don't ya worry. Amiro'll keep ya safe," Bonegrit grins back at Korvus. He swings his legs over the side of his steed and lands with a soft thud on the ground beneath. "It's easy to lose yer way in there, so make sure everyone keeps up. Stay close an' stay alert." Bonegrit's eyes are looking over the trail for familiar paths even as he speaks. He remembers the place being a tangled mess in daylight, and knows the others likely aren't used to traveling in such places.
Nodding at Pellius, Bonegrit leads out of the caravan and hoists himself up into the saddle again. The half-orc is tired, but makes no show of being thus. Instead, he trots out to the head of volunteers and says, "Best to get to it, then." He softly nudges Amiro forward to a canter and begins the return trip to the hermit's dwelling.
Bonegrit nods to Pyotr then says, "Another fast rider would be plenty."
Bonegrit nods to Deramil. He entertains the thought—briefly—of explaining the ordeal involving the accident, but thinks better of it. That the horses were tended to and returned to health is enough to satisfy both he and the First Master. Instead, Bonegrit's mind returns to the entire reason for the ordeal: Dierik. Returning to the fold as Pellius speaks, Bonegrit rubs the back of his head as he mulls over the situation. He is tired. Not that it's ever stopped him before, but even following Kelya's tending he is sobered by the dull ache in his bones from their travails. At the same time, waiting until morning doesn't seem very appealing. Bonegrit shakes his head and taps Pellius lightly on the wrist with his forehand. "We could have Banthorl back here tonight. I don't like the notion o' Skaraben havin' the marshal at his back. With Khozin gone, they might figger on our craw deservin' their stick, yeah?"
Our Glorious Czar: I rather enjoy Pyotr's designation as party leader. It's nice to have a moral anchor to keep the rudder right, and Pyotr is far from a boring flavor of Paladin. I think you've done a great job of conveying the teenager aspect of the character. The dynamic between Pyotr and his order has likewise been fun to watch play out. Bonegrit is kinda like an outside cat I think. He sees the indoors through the glass, and thinks he really wants in on that, but the moment he gets inside he's longing for the freedom of the outside again. I've struggled here and there to adequately represent that outlook. I think sometimes he's a little more altruistic than what I intended with others. In any event, the party's ranger is ill-suited and does not want the leader spot in any formal capacity. Stupid, Fat Orcses!: No worries on my account. My selection of favored enemy and terrain had more to do with Bonegrit's history than any benefit in play to be wrung from it. I had momentarily considered humans when I was making him, back when I was leaning more towards bounty hunter than tracker-guide extraordinaire. We'll get to em when we get to em. I have no regrets or complaints thus far, especially about foes. We've mostly been dealing with undead, true, but that's right up my alley if not Bonegrit's. I actually get a lot of player complaints about my heavy applications of the unliving, hah. New Friend-a-thon: I'd recommend reaching out to Thron if you're looking for a new face. He's a great player and far more dependable than I (so much so that I even have him co-DMing one of my own PbPs). Subtle Threads: I think both the pace and the plot have been outstanding in this game. This is actually my favorite PbP I'm currently involved with, so you're scratching the right itches. I will echo Pellius a bit here, if I may; sometimes the forgetfulness of the player might pluck away a reference that the characters wouldn't miss. For things of noteworthy significance/importance, maybe a brief refresher or hint would be sufficient. Beyond that, there's not any recommendations I can think of really. You've done a great job of presenting a rich and fleshed out world for your players. That kinda stuff really goes over well with me. It conveys a real sense of a living, breathing world. The people we encounter seem genuine and have their own opinions, objectives, etc. I far, far prefer that to the alternative of only interacting with specifically relevant PCs or places. In short: keep up the good work.
Bonegrit quickly sets to the task of rounding up the horses and seeing them back to the care of First Master Deramil. From the alacrity with which the half-orc works, one might think him fearful of a boulder suddenly descending to crush the beasts before he can get them properly tethered.
Bonegrit chuckles. "Hells, if the sound of ill-gotten coin doesn't suit ya, maybe we can call it a 'Idiots-What-Tried-To-Kill-Us Tax'." The lanky half-orc nods to Khozin, a final appreciation for his hand in getting the horses safely back to Dierik's laager. It is a marked departure from the ranger's earlier opinions of the scoundrel, though the brief encounters with those the half-elf had wronged have done their fair share of lifting in recoloring Bonegrit's thinking. No doubt, were he to stick around, they would continue to find their fair share of trouble. His worth was proven in the end, however, and he wishes the fool well. More importantly, he wishes to get back to the wagons and see his friend back to health. Bonegrit urges Amiro into a canter, tailing after Pyotr.
Bonegrit shrugs and says "If yer askin' me, I'd sell it an' be done with it. He needs the horse, and we can use the coin. It's a more than fair offer."
"Aye, yer free to head to Lastwall, but not on a horse under Deramil's care. You're welcome to try an' barter for a mount at the caravan, of course." Bonegrit clops along atop Amiro, eager to get back to the homestead and see Dierik back to waking life. "I'm sure they'd be willin' to take ya on formal-like if it strikes yer fancy. Never know when a deft pair o' hands might come in handy in Belkzen, yeah?" The ranger makes no move to block or intimidate Khozin. The man is free to do as he pleases as far as Bonegrit is concerned. He also knows he can ride him down without much effort if he tries to make off with the horse.
Bonegrit continues tending to and worrying over the horses, nodding a thanks to Khozin as he does so. Patting their muzzles, he continues to calm them down. Though Khozin's intervention has mended wounds, their nerves an entirely different matter. "These two stay on my lead 'til we're back at the laager."
Bonegrit's warnings are lost to an overeager buffoon and the clod of his mount's frantic and uneven gait. The half-orc can see the outcome even before it happens, and he urges Amiro forward quickly to round on the disastrous pile. His approach goes largely unnoticed, given the distraction afforded by a tangled pile of lamed horses and all the noise that implies. Bonegrit's jaw is set firm, and he makes no immediate response to Pyotr's question. Instead, he unleashes a powerful and unannounced haymaker that catches Commor square in the jaw. It's not an expression he's worn often, but when the ranger whirls back around to face Pyotr, his features are twisted with no small amount of rage, the orc in his blood showing all strongly. "" Bonegrit's scowl rebounds from Commor to Pellius at the mention of leaving them for dead—or worse, doing the deed themselves. A few blusters drown words that never quite form, until he turns to Khozin. "You. Whisper whatever it is you whisper and make this right." Though unspoken his eyes convey the message plainly: fix them and maybe I won't let them hang you.
Bonegrit watches in solemn silence from the periphery of the campsite. It sounds like the old knight is close to dying. While he holds sympathy in his heart, he doesn't know him well enough to share in the depression.
Bonegrit nods in agreement with Pyotr. Seeing that Alagor and Delkaneth have the camp well in hand, he instead takes a quick stock of their perimeter, ranging out at a half-mile in a full circuit before returning to camp with the rest.
"Looks like your health isn't going to allow for a lot of things, yeah? There's somethin' other than old in yer bones. Anything to be done for it? We're on our way to Freedom Town with one cure. I reckon I could be persuaded to ride back with another one if there's one to be had. If not, my condolences. . . Ser." Bonegrit dares come no closer and risk the wrath of the elder's squire, but the half-orc eyes the old man with the same sympathy he had the starving puma.
Bonegrit quietly ambles into view behind Pyotr, though makes no introduction. The pair seemed amiable enough, if for no other reason than their weapons remained sheathed where they belonged. Men of Vigil are not his specialty, however, so he resolves to leave the introductioning to the other half-orc.
Bonegrit watches on in silence from the relative safety of the shadows. The group does not appear to pose any threat, nor do they seem unsavory to him, but it's best to be safe rather than sorry. Resting on his haunches a bit, Bonegrit continues eyeing the exchange intently.
Unable to shake his pangs of curiosity, Bonegrit begins to nod slowly to acknowledge Pyotr's appraisal. He couldn't speak for the others, but the thought of trying to sleep with some unknowns so close didn't strike him as a good idea. More likely than not, whoever broke camp on that hillside felt the same way about their own presence. Bonegrit spares a look to Pyotr, then the rest of their entourage. He says, "Probably better to go say hello than stand here scratchin' our noggins an' hoping fer the best. If someone means us harm, I'd rather face em while some of us ain't asleep. If not? A friendly greeting couldn't hurt."
"Like it or not, I don't figger on us makin' our way out of here entirely before night's nippin' at our heels. Ridin' or leadin' in the dark ain't a gamble I'm about to settle on Amiro's broad shoulders." Bonegrit looks down the same trails that delivered them here. He had hoped to make it out of the mountains before nightfall as well, but he won't lose any of their number, horses included, on overreaching. "It starts gettin' too dark, I'll range ahead an' find us some shelter from the rain. In the meantime, let's get to movin'. An' we'd best make nice with the fact we might be sleepin' in The Hungries tonight."
I agree for the most part. And I like Pathfinder a lot, don't get me wrong. There are a lot of situations that creep up that I (personally) feel like stifle player enterprise, though. It's mostly an issue with Skills/Feats and the rampant math therein. I prefer the rules to provide an expression for what the character is doing instead of defining what a character is capable of doing. 2nd Edition held up way better in this regard, imo, excepting some very glaring examples (like only thieves and rangers being allowed to sneak).
Bonegrit rises to a sitting position for a moment before continuing to his feet. He's thankful that nothing appears to be broken. With a bit of luck, maybe their horses hadn't been eaten by some mountain stalking monstrosity and they could return to the caravan unmolested. "I think I've had enough of this stink-hole. Let's get back while the gettin' is good." Bonegrit begins making his way towards the bridge that brought them here.
There's an undertaking I'm undertaking! Brief version: I'm trying to use more modernized game concepts to update AD&D 2nd Edition with. I intend to open up the discussion to people I know via these messageboards as well as people I game with face to face. To be frank, I don't think D&D:N is going to be what it promised to be, which is a shame. Pathfinder remains fun, but less so with each passing day (I think it's simply too codified for my own tastes). So I'm going to green-light my initial idea to try and overhaul 2nd Edition's malformed chassis with some more modern themes. I welcome insight from those with an understanding of AD&D 2nd Edition as well as those with an understanding of Pathfinder. New ideas are fine, but within a specific context. This is not a goal to design an entirely new game—the end result should still play like D&D, even if some pieces look different. That means Vancian spellcasters, Saving Throws, Str/Dex/Con/Int/Wis, alignments, and so on. I'm not looking to break any boundaries. Just trying to polish and update what's already there. Here's the Google Sites link I've served up as a gathering point for ideas, development, and the like—complete with a horribly generic title:
Bonegrit remains on the ground sucking in air and wheezing for several moments. His lungs are too robbed of oxygen for him to offer any exasperation or reprimand at the thought of not dashing back to Dierik's side immediately.
Bonegrit wraps his legs around one of the protruding vertebrae to secure himself for a shot with his bow. Alagor and Pyotr's efforts prove a little more profound than the ranger anticipates, however, and Bonegrit is easily dislodged from his ascent. He comes crashing to the ground hard, a brief "Agh!" all that precedes his unexpected arrival. He impacts flat-backed with a great wheeze. He curls up in a ball trying to get his breath.
Bonegrit makes to continue scrambling up the skeletal remains of the creature that constitutes his current ladder and means of ascent. So close, and yet so far away.
Occupied with the climb, Bonegrit cannot hope to get his bow free, never mind getting an arrow nocked, aimed, and loosed. The half-orc continues scrambling up the skeleton, albeit with more haste. He doesn't relish a chase through every tunnel in the mountain, but if it comes to that, so be it.
Bonegrit shrugs. It looked no more mobile than the contingents of armored bones behind them. Regardless, he picked up the scent. The little mote-thingy had gone this way, and Bonegrit did not want to rest on his haunches on the off chance that it might roll back down to the entrance. Even beyond Dierik's dire straits, they had left their horses tethered on the mountainside. The ranger didn't fancy leaving Amiro stranded for too long. "Ain't a wish o' mine, but choice ain't been much of a factor up to this point." Hustling forward, Bonegrit begins scrambling up the skeletal serpent with practiced ease .
Bonegrit nods at the fanggate before saying, "It went this way. Get it open so we can put this wretched place behind us as soon as possible. Looks easy enough to climb whatever that is."
Bonegrit calls over his shoulder, "Sure. Just give the rest of us time to get back outside before ya start clubbin' away."
Bonegrit's brows furrow inquisitively at Pellius' assertion. "In there's the only way our prize coulda got to. We should be wary where we let our foots fall, yeah, but forward's our only option until we got the mushrooms." And besides, still young as he is, Bonegrit's aching to get a look at that thing's skull. It's likely as big as Grimspur's hut. Noticing the manner in which the mote had eluded them before, Bonegrit begins sniffing along the base of the fanggate for any tell of its having passed this way. Failing that, he searches for any excessively clean panels along the floor.
"Don't think it fancies dust an' dirt an' sand. Maybe some o' them meaty deaders back in the cave entrance would grab it's attention. Even then, it may not be as stupid as we're imaginin'. Besides, I haven't caught a single wiff of that little ball o' rot." Bonegrit turns his attention to the far end of the garrison. He's eager to find somewhere within that isn't choked with lines of dead sentinels.
Bonegrit wonders what everyone keeps looking at. He has yet to see anything noteworthy.
Alagor took... let's see... 8 arrows and 2 blunt arrows (the latter of which were just handed over to Bonegrit, I do believe). Which leaves, from the Sharpes Gang Haul:
I'll go ahead and mark those down on Amiro's quiver-armada, assuming it's correct.
14 arrows, 20 blunt, 20 flight, 19 whistling, and the quiver from the dead archer-thug from the Sharpes gang.
"Sorry. I've precious little armor to keep a garrison from rendin' me to bits if it takes the fancy." Bonegrit keeps his senses sharp. Tracking something that cleans a place spotless would not be likely to begin with. Stone seldom tells unless something is left behind. Arith-Zind's words lead the ranger to believe it's simply not going to be that easy to find. He will have to rely on his nose instead, which is unfortunate. This place smells bad.
Here goes: +1 Alagor's gifted cure light wounds potion
That puts his current quiver where it should be, I believe. I hope. Perhaps I have quiver of selective devouring.
HP: +9 (8 + 1 [Con])
Slam-diddly-slammed atm; I will square away everything tonight, consequences be damned. Would you be okay with me picking up boon companion as my 3rd level feat? I technically don't meet the prerequisites for it yet (not until 4th, I believe). I would see zero benefit from it for the entirety of 3rd level, but I'm aiming for Bonegrit to have a staunch animal companion at his side, be it a scrawny puma or a sturdy Dort charger.
Bonegrit stands ready to follow Pyotr. He's eager to fetch their quarry and be done with this wretched place.
"Corpses ain't movin' so far. Still don't see our prize, either." Bonegrit accepts Alagor's offering with thanks, placing the pair of projectiles in his quiver to replace those that were spent against Arith-Zind. "Now let's hope I don't have to use the damned things."
Seeing Arith-Zind subject once more to an onslaught of attacks, Bonegrit lets free a cry of "Wai-!" It is a cry that sounds too late and the wight falls before Pyotr's impressive strike. Bonegrit, wide eyed, wheels and bolts behind and around the line of his companions, feet eager to find purchase somewhere offering a view of the garrison halls that stretch on behind the throne of its alleged commander. Stopping before the entryway, the grizzled half-orc watches and listens for any signs of movement within the ranks of undead garrisoned within. More importantly, he looks desperately for any signs of the mote to whom their ultimate prize currently belongs.
Bonegrit offers a brief quip while casually eyeballing the garrison around him, "If yer service is as boring as you make it seem, what would there be worth lookin' forward to if The Whisperin' Tyrant got his way? World full of deaders standin' at attention in garrisons with no visitors left for visitin'—seems pretty awful to me." "Can't wrap my head around 'the world will bow before me' types. If they get what they want, there's nothin' else to get. Sights too high, if ya ask me. An' I'm a marksman. Aimin' too high's one of the surest way to miss the shot."
Offering a nod in Arith-Zind's direction, Bonegrit responds, "Assumin' he gives us leave to do so, I'm all fer that idea."
Bonegrit passes the time listening while restringing his bow. After concluding, he gives it a few test tugs and replaces it over his shoulder.
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