IT IS THE 41st millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die.
YET EVEN IN his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. Mighty battlefleets cross the daemon-infested miasma of the warp, the only route between distant stars, their way lit by the Astronomicon, the psychic manifestation of the Emperor’s will. Vast armies give battle in his name on uncounted worlds. Greatest amongst His soldiers are the Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, bio-engineered super-warriors. Their comrades in arms are legion: the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defense forces, the ever-vigilant Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name but a few. But for all their multitudes, they are barely enough to hold back the ever-present threat from aliens, heretics, mutants – and worse.
TO BE A man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. These are the tales of those times. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim, dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.
Your descent to the planet Arnhold is silent and efficient under the stern gaze of the Commissariat. The whole operation reads just like the standard entry listed in the Tactica Imperialis, despite being the regiment’s first deployment - or perhaps because of that fact. The closest thing to danger that you could feel was some minor turbulence as your Pegasus Heavy Lander entered the atmosphere.
As the Pegasus’s doors open, you and the rest of Battalion Alpha Company 4 debark. Looking around you, you can see two dozen other companies doing the same. Forming up, all six thousand troopers of the Vantanian 16th Saboteur Corps are arrayed in parade-ground formation on the landing pad.
The spaceport you landed in is a large sprawling affair, dotted with many hangers and outbuildings. To the north you can see the spires of the towers of Koennigsburg’s city center, poking into the sky. To the north-east, you can just make out an ornate cathedral, glimmering in the midday sun. To the south and west you can see a series of hab-towers and houses, tapering off to jagged hills in the distance.
As you march through the city to your assigned barracks, you can see young children following you through the streets. Citizens stop to stare, some waving to you and cheering. However, there are far too many people here for a city this size. It feels… bloated. There are more people here than you would expect, thousands more. They flock to you, packing the street from shoulder to shoulder. Some reach out and touch your shoulders reverently, making the sign of the aquila. As you march along a bridge, you can look along either side and see bustling crowds of people stretching out for hundreds of meters in either direction. Everything here looks worn down, burdened by the sheer weight of the populace inhabiting the city. Makeshift shelters fill the alleyways between buildings, cover side streets, and intrude upon open squares. They are mostly empty, their ragged inhabitants watching your regiment march through the streets.
Your barracks are in the warehouse district, where the Vantanian 16th has taken over an entire hab block worth of warehouses. The floors are simple ferrocrete, and there is a distinct lack of privacy among the enlisted. “Rooms” have been constructed out of shipping containers, with one squad to a container.
A set of large boards have been set up at the entrance, with names listed on them. These boards tell you what squad you have been assigned to, and where it is. When you find your name, you see that you have been assigned to Alpha Battalion, 4th Company, Epsilon Platoon, 2nd Squad. On the sheet it is simply abbreviated as A4E2, and it seems your bunks are in the middle of the second warehouse. You have to push through a sea of bustling guardsmen hurrying this way and that. It seems that someone didn’t take the time to think the whole deployment through - the barracks are a mess. You can hear one man yelling something about there being no bunks in his squad’s room. Another problem for the Adeptus Munitorium, no doubt.
When you arrive at you container-room, you note that it has five bunk beds in it, some of them already occupied. It is dimly lit, and there are small spots of rust along the bottom edges of the containers-as if from water damage. Everything in it feels tired and worn, from the battered two-men bunks to the fragile-looking camp stools that serve as chairs. There is a faint scent of mildew here, from many years tired soldiers billeting here. Two men sit in the back corner, playing some sort of card game. You can see their packs laying on the beds they have claimed.
Your characters will arrive in the order you post. The two men in the back can be comrades, and two more comrades need to show up at some point. Go ahead and describe your characters and introduce yourselves to each other. Your squadmates are your new family, and your life will be in their hands in days to come.
The 23rd of Erastus dawns bright and clear over the town of Borok, situated in the western Tandak Plains. (Map) Over Castle Borok to the south, golden pennants bearing the green gryphon of Baron Wylder flutter in the breeze. Between the castle and the town lies a riot of colour - dozens of pavilions and tents of all shapes and sizes cover the landscape. A large field of grass has been roped off, temporary stables have been erected, and both nobles and commoners from miles around have been arriving for days, for the Baron is hosting a tournament.
The town bustles with excitement as merchants pack goods onto wagons to ply visiting attendees with their wares. Bakers, butchers, and brewers work quickly to fill orders for filled-to-capacity inns, message boys run to and fro, and, for a price, the Abadaran Church offers blessings and healing for afflictions from the road. The Baron's men are seen on many a street corner, standing watch in case any visitors decide to be less than good guests.
Mihail:
You stride through the gaudily-decorated tournament grounds in exasperation. A quill-scrabbling clerk had the temerity to refuse your registration for the tournament starting this very afternoon - after riding all this way, too!
You arrived outside Borok last night, found yourself a plot of land near the tourney grounds, and set up your tent there. This morning you fed Lanfarness and went to register - supposedly to set up 'proper' pairings, with no up-jumped commoners jousting against true nobles in the first rounds, though you suspect it's just because Taldans don't feel comfortable unless there is an undue amount of bureaucracy involved in something. You were directed to a small tent full of scrolls, staffed by a short, balding man at a creaky portable desk - and that's when the trouble started.
The son of a peasant first misspelled your name, squinted at you suspiciously when you corrected him, grunted dismissively at where you hailed from, then smirked self-importantly when he discovered you had no squire. Never mind that you've been working with horses since you could walk, or that you are fully capable of carrying your own heraldry, or that you know nobody in this hot, sweaty town - "No squire, no entry," the clerk repeated, as if that mantra warded common sense from his idiot brain.
Dozens of people have already begun arriving from the town, villagers and travellers alike. The common folk give you a berth as you walk, though a group of travel-stained men in leathers give you an appraising look. You peg them as bodyguards, or perhaps wandering adventurers. A harsh glare in their direction is enough to make them move out of your way - they must sense your irritation. Making your way to a brewer's stand, you drop a pair of copper coins on the counter and grab a watery beer. Continuing your walk, you return to your tent and the shade inside. Given a moment to cool off, you decide this trip may be salvageable - surely someone here would be willing to hold a flag and pass you a lance or two. If you need a squire, a squire you will find.
Setting out once again, you untie Lanfarness and take him to the stables. Heading back to the brewer's cart, you find that a large tent has been erected to shade the people from the hot summer sun, and a good half-dozen carts have joined the first stall, all offering food and drink. Your eyes scan the assembled attendees, looking for someone who looks capable enough to suit your purpose.
A lanky man standing alone draws your attention. Your practiced eye notes his fine armor, a bow across his back, and a longsword at his side. The wear on the hilt of sword indicates that he has some skill in arms, and the holy symbol on his neck informs you that he knows how to serve. Yes, this man may be just what you need…
Please post under spoiler tags for now, labelled ‘Kaid’an and GM’ or just ‘Kaid’an’. I read all the spoilers anyway.
Iluna:
It is late morning when you and Farlan draw near to the town. Stopping a few meters from the gatehouse, Farlan gives a gentle sigh. ”This, my dear, is where our paths diverge. From here you should be able to begin your search. The land of Taldor is vast, but those Desna touches tend to gain some measure of luck. It may take time, but I am certain you will find the boy you seek.” You remember the dream: always the same three figures - boy, man, and shadow - though the precise forms change. You remember the nearly teenaged D’zarra, spinning a dagger in his fingers with a crown marked on the pommel. You remember the mark drawing your attention as it spun in D’zarra’s hands, and Farlan telling you it was the mark of the Empire of Taldor, that it was a sign providing direction.
Farlan ruffles his bear’s fur, and the movement brings you out of your momentary reverie. ”Beor and I must return to our stewardship of the forest. We do not belong in the world of crowds and artifice.”
Farlan looks into your eyes, and takes one of your hands into his. ”Farewell, daughter of starlight.”
With that, Farlan and Beor leave you.
You enter the town and ask around at the inns for any sign of D’zarra and his mother, but to no avail. One innkeeper suggests that, while a mother and young child might not be the type to travel to a tournament, perhaps other attendees may know. After all, they come from a fairly wide area of countryside, and having them all in one place could make your job easier.
Taking his advice, you head to the tournament grounds. A nearby pavilion, large and full of people, draws your attention as a good place to start. The canopy overhead provides shelter from the hot noon sun, and multiple carts and temporary stalls are selling food and drink. The overall atmosphere is one of merriment and anticipation, as spectators and contest hopefuls alike await the start of competitions this afternoon.
As you take in the room, a gloved hand firmly, yet not roughly, grasps your shoulder. Turning, you see a group of four men wearing worn leathers, the leader still holding on to you.
”’Scuse me, miss,” he opens, his expression not quite a smirk. ”I hear yer lookin’ fer a half-elf baby. I think me mates an’ I should have a talk with you.”
The other three men shift a little closer, beginning to move to your sides. The leader’s eyes narrow slightly and his mouth becomes set.
”Do the words ‘Dark Brothers’ mean anything t’ya?”
You now notice the swords and clubs hanging at the mens’ belts, though from what you can see all of their hands are still empty - aside from the one that remains clamped on your shoulder.
Put your replies in spoilers for now, please, labeled ‘GM’, ‘GM only’ or some variation therof.
Kaid'an:
You arrived at Borok yesterday as dusk was closing in. While looking futilely for an open room in an inn, you find a baker struggling to drag a handcart with a broken wheel. You aid him in carrying the cart back to his bakery, and in return the baker, introducing himself as Garren, allows you to stay the night in his shop once he hears of your difficulty. ”That’ll be the tournament crowd filling up all the rooms. Good for business, though,” he confides. ”It starts tomorrow, and once I get this busted cart fixed up right, I’ll be taking my goods there to sell.”
The following morning, Garren sets about baking fresh bread. He asks if you’d be willing to give him a hand hauling the cart to the wheelwright, and offers food and a place to sleep for the tournament if you help him move his goods each day. You agree, and assist him as he gets the cart repaired, loads his bread and pastries, and hauls it to the tournament grounds.
On the way, he shares a little more information about the tournament - the big event is the melee, where dozens of knights fight with blunted weapons, though the jousts are growing in popularity every year. Most of the nobles have stopped entering in the more dangerous melee, and the crowds love to see the upper class get knocked on their rears. Contests of magic always impress as well. Taking note of your bow, he mentions that the archery competition is open to all, and the winner takes home a good bit of coin.
Arriving at the grounds, Garren finds a place near a few other purveyors of food and drink, under a pavilion that shades the merchants and their customers from the hot summer sun. You finish helping Garren and he rewards you with a tasty meat pie and a reminder to come back later.
Picking up a tankard of ale from an adjacent stand, you eat your lunch quietly, but before you get a chance to look around the tournament grounds you notice a man striding purposefully towards you. He slips through the crowd easily enough, his bearing noble yet powerful. He seems to be looking you over with appraising eyes, and moments later he has arrived…
Please post under spoiler tags for now, labelled ‘Mihail and GM’ or just ‘Mihail’. I read all the spoilers anyway.
Andaris:
You arrived in town yesterday, following news of a tournament to be held here. You figured that such an event would attract the wealthy, the powerful, and the skillful - ideal pickings for companions to aid your righteous quest. Barely managing to find a room in the packed town, you go to bed early to sleep off the fatigue from your travels from Cassomir, where you left the ship, to Borok, 100 miles inland.
This morning you broke your fast in the common room of the inn, then headed out to the tournament grounds. You wandered a little, finding information about the events and watching people set up. Lists were erected for the jousts this afternoon. You find the tournament is planned to last three days, and the events will include staff fighting, archery, wizardry, tale-telling, riddling, and drinking, in addition to the jousts and melee.
Around noon, you head back over to a large pavilion that was erected over a group of food and drink carts. You purchase a simple lunch and rest in the shade while you eat. Suddenly, you notice a bit of a disturbance to your right - a group of four men in travel-stained leathers push their way through the people in the pavilion, nearly knocking over a figure in robes. They do not seem to notice, and continue on until they reach a lone woman. One of the men grabs her shoulder and begins talking, while the other men spread out around her. From their stances you read aggression, though while they carry blades and clubs at their waists, none of the men draw a weapon. They are approximately 15 feet from your position, through a crowd of people.
Please put your replies in spoilers for now, labeled ‘GM’, ‘GM only’ or some variation therof.
Gonan:
You wandered into town a week ago. Initially intending on just passing through, you heard word of an upcoming tournament the baron was hosting. Having never seen something like this, you decided to stick around and see what all the fuss was about. The locals seemed disproportionately excited about having their town flooded with strangers and watching men in metal suits hit each other with sticks, but perhaps it is just something that is difficult to explain well.
The inn gets more and more crowded each day as more people flood into the city. All week you learn what you can about the coming event. Lords from across Taldor are expected to be in attendance, though they don’t usually participate much themselves - rather, their knights and retainers compete as proxies. Common folk are allowed to participate in most of the side contests, including archery, staff fighting, wizardry, tale-telling, riddling and drinking. The main events, which must be registered for, are the joust and the melee.
Finally, the first day of the tournament arrives. Registration and set-up is happening in the morning, with the first of the jousting in the afternoon. You leave for the tournament grounds near noon and wander around a bit to take it all in. The melee field is in the center, with lists to the south. Tents are arrayed haphazardly to the east, where competitors are camped. A large temporary stable houses nearly a hundred horses, guarded by Baron’s men. To the north are large tents, bustling crowds of commoners and merchants hawking all sorts of goods and services. As you walk through the crowds, you see entertainers drawing audiences with dance, song, and flashy magic.
Your stomach reminds you it is nearing lunch, so you amble over to the great pavilion that shades ten or so carts offering food and drink. Glad to be out of the sun, you start to make your way to one of these when a group of four men in worn leathers push by you, almost knocking you down. You shout indignantly but they seem to pay no heed as they work through the crowd until they reach a lone woman about ten feet away from you. One of them grabs her by the shoulder while the others begin to fan out around her. You see weapons on the mens’ belts, but they don’t appear to be reaching for them - at this point they are only talking.
Please put your replies in spoilers for now, labeled ‘GM’, ‘GM only’ or some variation therof.
For now, let's have everyone check in. For those of you who haven't posted on these messageboards before, feel free to test out the features. We'll start the actual game once everyone's ready.
From the Two-Handed Fighter archetype for the Fighter (APG):
APG wrote:
Overhand Chop (Ex): At 3rd level, when a two-handed fighter makes a single attack (with the attack action or a charge) with a two-handed weapon, he adds double his Strength bonus on damage rolls. This ability replaces armor training 1.
As written, this seems to imply that the fighter gains a total of 3.5 times their Strength bonus to damage rolls. It is not stated to replace the regular bonus, but to add instead.
On the other hand, increasing the bonus by 2x seems to be incredibly overpowered, especially with the 7th level ability that allows this for all attacks in a full attack. A post here by Mark Moreland says that the intent is to only allow for 2x Strength bonus, replacing rather than adding to the regular bonus.
I don't think the current wording supports the intent, and creates confusion. If it shouldn't add, I think that should be made more clear.
Can we get this FAQ'd?
A little bit of background:
My friends and I had decided to start playing an RPG together over the internet, and we decided on Pathfinder. None of us have any previous experience with the game. I have been put in the position of DM, and I could use a little help.
The issue:
One of our players (the wizard) is arguing that if someone is stunned, then they should be helpless. The argument is based off of this line in the Core Rulebook's glossary, as the definition of helpless:
A helpless character is paralyzed, held, bound, sleeping, unconscious, or otherwise completely at an opponent's mercy.
He argues that a stunned character is completely at an opponent's mercy, with this argument:
1) The game says that helpless is among a list of debuffs, as well as anything else that would render a creature helpless.
2) Helpless is defined as unable to defend itself.
3) Being stunned drops anything held in your hands, and allows you absolutely no actions.
4) Unless you come up with a better idea, the only way someone can drop everything they are holding without control of this action, is from their muscles seizing up, and they lose grip, unable to close their fingers/hand.
5) As per the "no actions", you cannot make a free action, a free action is an action which "don't take any time at all".. (this quote from the actions part of the combat section in the book, original: Free actions don't take any time at all, though there may be limits to the number of free actions you can perform in a turn.)
An example is speaking, or opening your hand. If you cannot open your hand, an action which could happen within he constraints of approximately 0.2 seconds or so. If you can somehow perform an action without the need for human reflex, you can do so. Such as thinking a simple though, or moving your eyes as per your own will and thought, not as per reflex. That is all you can do.
You cannot perform an action taking more than 0.2 seconds.
Until you time yourself and show you can raise your arm in defense in under 0.2 seconds, you cannot defend yourself.
-You are helpless.-
Now, my primary rebuttal is that it is not listed as one of the conditions that makes you helpless, and if it were to be considered as one then it would be listed. I also disagree with his opinion on the stunned status and the magnitude of its effects. I was wondering what more experienced players and DMs have to say on the matter, and what you think I should do. I am loath to introduce many house rules at the moment, because we have only played a few sessions and have not got the feel of how the game is supposed to work. (We tend to do a lot of character interaction, and have only actually done combat once.) Any suggestions would be appreciated.