"I vote we clear out bandits," Cato rumbles. "Show we can do something with the law as well."
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I am going to likely be a bit low on posting for a few days, as I am going to be working some doubles and pretty much going straight to sleep afterwards. Feel free to bot me if anything comes up, and I'll catch up on Wednesday!
Cato hesitates for a moment upon hearing his name, then nods to himself. "Right, 'course you'd know," he says to no one in particular. Cato nods along as the "halfling" speaks. "Indeed. I agree with Gar-" the human stops mid-breath and suddenly reddens. He attempts to turn what he was saying into a cough before continuing. "With Mimazaran," Cato finishes. "Should leave."
Cato returns to his normal size, and the fatigue of battle instantly overtakes him as his bloodrage ends. He props himself against the mounted bow, catches his breath, and climbs back down the side of the carriage.
"She?" Cato merely says in response to the elf's question. "You are Arael?" the human asks.
Cato swings his sword in a wide arc, seeking to wound but not kill the armiger.
"Next strike will be to kill," Cato growls out a promise as his blade misses once more. "Still time to run."
Cato steps up onto the cart and attempts to climb it.
Cato takes a step backward towards Garidan, and flicks a hand into his own pack. He retrieves the potion of cure light wounds from earlier, and pours the life-giving curative down the wizard's throat.
"If you shrink me back, can charge that one," Cato says to Garidan as the other man wakes.
Cato steps to the left to block shots towards Garidan with his body. His sword whips downwards toward the eagle-assaulted armiger.
Cato offers a string of unintelligible curses - pausing only to give a brief message of thanks to Garidan for his spell (not by name, of course) - as crossbow bolts skitter off his armor, else miss entirely. The giant man's glare flits among the Hellknights who fired on him before finally settling on the one who called the order. Cato lets loose a deep, rumbling chuckle at the sight of a psuedo-illusory bird clawing and biting at the Signifier. He sets his feet, and decides to join the eagle in its attack.
Cato didn't need that spleen, but I'm quite glad that it remains unpunctured. Thanks, DM and Garidan!
The mere sight of the Hellknights is enough to force Cato into a rage. The giant charges forward, greatsword whipping out to meet the horse on his right. His eyes briefly flicker over to the downed Hellknight, and the barest hint of hesitation creeps into his swing. At the last instant, as if by instinct rather than choice, he flicks his sword sideways, bringing down the full weight of the swing into the flat of his blade.
Cato breathes a sigh of relief at his own actions, as if he in fact values the horse's life higher than the Hellknight's. "Try it," Cato spits the words at Shanwen. The giant tilts his head towards the horse, as if to indicate what he has in store for the first man or woman to fire.
Cato's form shifts and bulges as he runs out from the bushes to the crossing. His massive size - now twice its previous - almost fills the bridge entirely. The giant taps his face to confirm that his mask has indeed been affected by the enlarging spell, and then brings his hand back to grip his greatsword. He sets his feet into a fighting stance. Personal Reminder (Enlarge Person): The target gains a +2 size bonus to Strength, a -2 size penalty to Dexterity (to a minimum of 1), and a -1 penalty on attack rolls and AC due to its increased size.
A humanoid creature whose size increases to Large has a space of 10 feet and a natural reach of 10 feet. This spell does not change the target's speed.
Martino or Tanrov would be best, as I'm on the opposite side of the bridge.
Cato will rush out to the bridge once the signal is fired, or as close as he can get with his movespeed. Mask on, sword out.
Cato agrees to Garidan's plan. "Same trick on the bridge as with the ladder?" he queries in relation to Garidan's grease spell yesterday. "Could you get through a harness?" Cato asks Mimazaran gently. "Perhaps could cut free horses from the prison carriage. Even smaller chance of escape or sending for help. Else conjuring some puppets might be enough to spook the horses. Cause some damage to Hellknights when they panic." "Anyone skilled at locks?" Cato asks the group. "Might be able to free Arael during chaos; have him fight with us. Else break open the door, depending on carriage material," he says, complementing his statement with a pantomime of bringing a heavy object down against a door.
Cato pulls his horse to ride next to the group . "Occurred that we have not made proper introductions. Battle capabilities. Skills in and out of fighting," he says. "Formally: I am Cato Archimboli. Fight with the greatsword, close quarters. Through a series of events," Cato says quickly in a tone that indicates he has no intention of talking about them at this time, "I am...lucky. In fights. For lack of better word. Magical," he waves off the word as if it explains everything. "Channel luck and rage for greater strength. Heartier." "No significant talents," Cato adds with a hint of embarrassment. "Run a tavern, I suppose," he muses. He turns his head to the next speaker.
Cato has been standing, listening, silent, making little motion but to don his armor. At Mimazaran and Martino's words, he takes a step forward, as if crossing an imaginary line. "Fear," he pronounces, letting the word hang in the air. "Fear is not weakness," Cato begins, casting a look at Rizzardo. "Fear is strength. People fear loss of self, of family, of things important. Fear means having something to lose." The Chelaxian pauses briefly, then shakes his head, waving away his words as if they do not suffice. "I fear death," Cato begins anew. "I admit without shame. I fear the Hellknights and what they could, no, will do if they catch us alive. I fear the stink of failure, the loss of my fellows, and decimation of," Cato gestures towards the group, "All of this." "If those fears were flame, they could light a hearth and keep a mansion warm during even the coldest Irrisen winters." Cato inhales deeply, and speaks in a growing crescendo. "But compared, my fear for Westcrown under continued Hellknight rule, where children grow to fear the iron law? Where parents live or die according to the heartless whims of uncaring tyranny? Where the quiet nights are wrought with death and the stench of blood?" Cato shakes his head vigorously, his volume continuing to grow as he loses himself in fury. His voice fills with thunder and iron. "That fear is a wildfire, tearing through the forest! A fear that threatens to consume, to drive to madness! More than death, more than torture, I fear the slow, stagnant death that threatens to consume the city that we call ours! OUR HOME!" Cato's fist flies into the wall behind him, loosing a few stones. A small trickle of blood drips from his hand as he lowers it back to his side, and with obvious effort, unclenches it. The middle-aged man takes a moment to compose himself. His expression shows a pained weariness. "I will fight this fight," he says, turning towards the safehouse's exit. "Westcrown needs hope. Even if we fail, defiance has meaning." Cato turns back towards the group with a rare grin. "But I like this plan." He turns back to the door and walks out, pausing briefly at the threshold to declare, "I will not judge those who stay back. But I will respect those who follow." The lumbering man exits without looking back again.
I will be out of town today and part of tomorrow, but should resume posting shortly thereafter.
"He saw you fight, Cato." "Narrows it down to half the nation," Cato says, with a hint of a smile. the man smiles and offers you a beefy, calloused hand, "and Larko. I believe you have already met Amaya?" Cato removes his gauntlet to give Ermolos a handshake. Cato's hands have the rough, calloused texture common to those who spend their days working with them. "Pleasure," he says, attempting to match the amount of pressure in his fellow Chelaxian's handshake. Cato then gives each of the others introduced a look of acknowledgement. "If this draws the attention of the authorities, we may well find ourselves outside the city for a time. I think we ultimately share goals, so... what's the next step?" Rurik says in an attempt to move the conversation forward. "Next is sleep. After that..." Cato makes a vague gesture. "Information. Where Arael is taken. See if perhaps Yako's more'n just talk. Find the elf, spring him. One more ally, Rack has bloodied nose, drinks all around." The Chelaxian raises an imaginary cup in salute. "'Course," Cato adds with a cautionary finger upraised, "Easier said than done."
"Arael," Cato tilts his head. "The name keeps coming up. Who is he? How was he taken?"
"Perhaps the best an actor such as myself can do is rally the people in our favor, but I must admit that, while I am loathe to say it, you'd do better to find yourself a human actor." Are you advising that she starts Wayang her options?
The corner of Cato's mouth ticks up in amusement. "Look stupid. Good," he says, nodding to the gnome. "Ones that look smart seem more threatening. Nothing more dangerous than underestimation." Cato turns his head slowly back to Penumbra. "Speaking of Hellknights. Encountered a few in sewers. Apprentices; Order of the Rack by their garb. Knocked out now. Doubt they have much information, but might be best to check on."
With the defeat of the trainees, Cato closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He lets it out slowly, as if deflating. When he reopens his eyes, they regain their clarity from before the fight. The lumbering man seems for a moment tired, and old. "Hey," he eventually said to whoever was next to him, "Penumbra seemed to know a lot about us, a lot more than she probably should have...how do you think that is?" It just kept bugging him how she seemed to know about how he could manipulate the shadows, and from how she spoke, it seemed like she knew it was more than just to put on a puppet show. "You don't think she's been spying on us for who knows how long, do you?" Cato gives Mimazaran a tired smile. "Wouldn't take much digging in my case," Cato says after Garidan has said his piece. The Chelaxian removes a gauntlet to reveal a patch on his palm of scarred, burnt skin. It takes the shape of the letter "S" - a common mark identifying Chelish slaves - but the S has been overlaid with two diagonal lines crossing it out. Below it are two elaborate and ornate letters branded into his skin: D I. "Some might say I wear my opinions on my sleeve," Cato says with a half-hearted chuckle. "Near 'nuff to it, anyway." "Any case," Cato says, donning the gauntlet and clapping his hands together to signify a change of topic, "Garidan has the right of it. Best see if it's safe."
Cato emits a gutteral, almost feral growl as he channels his lost luck through his veins. His muscles crack, his veins in face and neck distend, and his frown changes into a savage scream. "Stand DOWN, boy!" he rages, swinging his greatsword at the prone, but still conscious foe immediately adjacent to him. At the last second, he curls his blade inward to strike with the flat of his blade.
Attack of Opportunity:
Merasmus, is that you!?I tried to find a good Merasmus voice response for this the first time I read it but none of them seemed to fit. BONUS DECKS!
If the apprentice is still on the ladder:
Cato rushes into the area directly across from where the party is, to flank with anyone who drops down. If the apprentice has already dropped to the floor: Cato moves to where he can attack the apprentice, and enters a bloodrage . He will attack non-lethally for the moment.
It is not locked. Within is a small store room with various tools hanging on the walls ranging from netting and buckets to shovels and picks.
"Anything of use?" Cato inquires as he gives the room a quick scan. "Might be someone could scan for magics."
"I heard nothing," Cato responds in a similarly hushed voice, "But I'll take your word." Cato points his sword in the general direction of the grate with the light shining through.
"Right," Cato replies, looking concerned. "But you'd best follow. Not intending to lose anyone." His piece said, Cato begins to move down the sewer tunnel towards the front of the group.
The design was my leasf favourite after the kinetic brat, but his story... damn, really cool! I know he's the Medium, but compared to the kineticist, he's a Large.
I just wanted to clarify something. Lini's two powers are:
Does this mean that when you discard a card to bump up your die (Power 2), you can discard an ally with the Animal trait to shuffle it into your deck? I'm not quite clear on the distinction between playing the card and using a card to activate a power: does using a card to activate a power count as playing it?
So, am I up in initiative? I can't see a list of of it anywhere. It's an us vs. them initiative block. So as soon as the enemies (the skeletons) move, you are free to move.
Cato continues to hold up the back of the party, but has yet to see anything that might cause trouble.
Cato shuffles forward with the group, but continues to hold up the back of the party in order to meet with any attacks from the rear.
Hm, not letting me post in the gameplay thread; it just keeps going as if I hit "Preview" and won't post. Paizo forums glitch...? At any rate, I got a 5. So I won't likely be moving before anyone.
The Chelaxian makes an agreeable grunt to the Wayang as Cato drops the potion Rurik gives him into his pack. "If anyone can make some form of magical sound, may help to throw 'em off, too." "Meantime, oughta keep moving." Cato follows behind the group, unshouldering his greatsword with a practiced smoothness.
Cato nods in assent to Garidan. "But take care to watch my pace." Cato juts a thumb towards his own chest. "Old man. Don't move as fast as before." Despite his proclamation, Cato appears to be in excellent shape for his age. The armor bearing its weight down on him, however, would likely be enough of a burden as to slow his movement. "If I need to stay back to buy time, can do that," he says, a frown carving its way back into his features. "But that's last resort. Would be a pity to be lost in sewers because I was moving too slow."
Tanrov surges out of his seat and takes his earthbreaker in hand. "Care," Cato rumbles. "They haven't seen fit to make laws against eating yet. Which is all we are doing. Not even sure if boy was followed." Cato turns an upraised eyebrow to Penumbra and the young boy. "Who's taken what? Believe Janiven said Arael was the tavern owner. Why take him?"
"Cato is one of the most impressive warriors the common man of Westcrown has seen, according to my elven friend." "Cato, by the way," he states to the group, giving an informal half-bow while seated. "Not sure I'd call myself a warrior, though." "How does a small band change the status quo? By setting an example. By showing the citizens that we don't need the vicious Order of the Rack. We can investigate the presence of the shadow beasts and try to kill or stop them. We can bring to justice those bandits who bribe the Rack and dottari and the goblins they can't be bothered to drive off. We will protect the innocent and strike fear into the hearts of those who would suck this city dry." Although he makes a concerted effort to keep his face neutral, Cato's expression mixes surprise with hope. He appears to agree with the sentiments noted, and nods along as those around him speak in turn. "Ah, the legendary shadow-beasts of Westcrown. Dusk-dwellers, night-terrors, whatsoever ya wanna call 'em," Cato frowns, and his brow furrows. "A dozen theories where they come from and a dozen-dozen more how to get rid of 'em. So where do we start lookin'?" Cato raises an eyebrow.
Whoops! Had to finish up a paper for a summer class I'm taking; almost forgot this started yesterday!
A tall Chelaxian man with greying hair and a long-faded scar over his left eye lumbers through the door to the tavern in full armor, with a greatsword slung over his back. He pauses to acknowledge the serving lady with a slow, warm smile and slight incline of the head. "Nothin' for me," he says in a soft bass. "Yet," he adds with a nod. Cato casts a curious look towards the table filled with various unfamiliar individuals. He gives each an appraising glance - just short enough to avoid being rude, but long enough to take them in. He walks slowly, cautiously, over to one of the open chairs, but waits before sitting down. "So," he says tersely, running a gauntleted hand through his beard. "Why am I here?" It is unclear if he asks the question of the group, or if he is merely talking to himself.
A frown rests on Cato's face, its weight an old and familiar friend. His brow furrowed and eyes distant and unfocused, the thoughts in his head slowly churn. His hand absently reaches for a small, copper coin, its edges worn by time. "Heads, go," the middle-aged Chelaxian intones in a voice of gravel, "Tails, no." He flips the coin through the air with a practiced flick of the thumb, then catches it in an outstretched palm. A dulled image of an imprinted head stares back at him. Cato's frown deepens, but he surges to his feet. He walks across the room to where a dusty, underused suit of scale armor sits. With great care, he puts it on. It never hurts to be over cautious. The invitation was a great unknown, and he intended to walk into it prepared. Cato walks towards the door, and hesitates. He turns heel and steps carefully over to a wall where his old greatsword hangs from a series of rungs. He reaches up and slings it over his back. It never hurts to be over cautious.
Checking in! I've updated my sheet to include gear, dropped back into medium armor since I can't quite afford heavy yet, and traded out a feat for another (looking into getting the Imperious Eldritch Heritage line). I'll post up in the gameplay section, but likely will be out for most of the rest of the day.
CoT Character Application Background:
Cato is, at first glance, a simple barkeep with a gruff but not unkind demeanor. He radiates an aura of quiet calm as he walks. He is polite in speech and neighborly in manner.
All this belies the unquenched fire that rages in his heart. Cato was born into the prestigious Archimboli family, one of the many noble families of Cheliax. Although they openly proclaimed their affection for Asmodeus, they quietly worshipped Desna, and made the mistake of informing a close family friend. In a political power grab, the "friend" turned the information over to the empire, and the family was stripped of their nobility, and in the case of Cato's mother and father, their lives. In an act of mercy, Cato's life was spared, but he was relegated to a life of slavery. At the age of seven, Cato's life changed from one of simple luxury to one of unending labor. Yet, even in the bleakness of his new life, the boy held on to a glimmer of hope: the Dies Irae. Four times every year, the empire held a death tournament which slaves could enter; the prize was freedom. For ten years, Cato labored away, voluntarily taking on the most grueling tasks to train his body for the arena. At the age of seventeen, Cato finally participated in the tournament. The matches were fierce, but in each round, when it seemed as if Cato was going to lose his life, some small act of luck won him the match. An opponent tripped upon a small pebble trying to deliver the killing blow, or else a small insect flew into the open mouth of his would-be killer, granting Cato enough time to end his opponent's life. It was as if all the luck that had been deprived Cato throughout his life was saved for those few moments. The young man went on to win the Winter Solstice Dies Irae, earning his freedom, a plot of land near Westcrown, and the title of baronet. He planned to build a small farm and earn his money by selling crops. Once again, misfortune struck Cato. The shadow beasts ravaged his farmland, and hellknights demanded outrageous tolls for their protection. In a matter of years, Cato found himself broke, and was forced to sell his title in order to eat. With the money left over from the sale, Cato purchased a modest tavern in Westcrown (named The Lucky Devil), which he has run for a good number of years. He has watched the slow decline of the city, and wishes to change it for the better, but lacks the means to do so. At the age of 49, he cares less for his own life, and more for the lives of those to come - for the future. He has come to despise the current way of things, and is growing frustrated with his own powerlessness. And so his fire rages on, silent, unseen, and ever-growing.
Mechanics Summary:
Cato Archimboli Male Human, Bloodrager (Steelblood, Destined Bloodline) 1 NG Medium humanoid (Human) Init +2; Senses Perception +5 -------------------- DEFENSE -------------------- AC 18, touch 11, flat-footed 17 hp 13 Fort +4, Ref +1, Will +1 -------------------- OFFENSE -------------------- Speed 30 ft. (20 in armor) Melee greatsword +5 (2d6+4) Ranged --------------------
This ability replaces fast movement.
Cato here is from another CoT PbP that had a handful of posts before the GM vanished. He has been adjusted to the 20-point buy; I should note that although he is middle-aged by age, I am not using the age modifiers. If this is a problem, I can always drop his age. Cato is a Steelblood Bloodrager (Destined Bloodline), filling the "heavy armor, heavy hitter" role. He will also have some out-of-combat use, primarily in social situations. And I think he's just fun to play from an RP standpoint.
Cato shakes his head at Monday's comment. "Kids," he murmurs. Cato plants his feet into a readied stance as he continues to scan the area for signs of trouble. Although he hefts his large sword with a sense of practiced ease, his unguarded stance indicates a lack of formal combat training.
Thanks, Raveen! I would like to say that I'm very impressed with everyone's RP so far, on both sides of the screen. I'm in a small handful of PbPs right now, but so far this one's my favorite.
Darius helps Cato put on the armor, whispering back to him as he worked on the various clamps and buckles of the armor, "We're not all like Commander Maric, sir. His years in the Order have stripped him of any semblance of basic human compassion. But he, like many of our order, set out to solely to help protect and serve the people of Westcrown. The life of a Hellknight is scarcely a path one would choose for selfish reasons." "You seem a decent sort, Darius," Cato says earestly as the Hellknight walks out the door. Once the younger man is out of earshot, Cato adds under his breath, "Be sad when they break you." The older man steps out the door and into the fog. The young Hellknight addresses the group, speaking as quietly as possible while still being audible to those around him, "Everyone, listen closely. Those of you who have no combat experience, huddle towards the middle of the group. Those of you who do, form a ring around the others and keep watch in all directions. If you spot any movement, then let the rest of us... Cato stands at the back of the group, sword at the ready. He wears a sharp scowl on his face that covers it in creases. "Damn devil," he whispers to the wind.
"There's a joint not too far from here owned by an associate of mine where we could hole up for the night, Cato. It'll be risky, but strength in numbers, right?" Cato nods in agreement. "Aye. Thanks, Tani. Be much appreciated," he says warmly before turning to the nearest Hellknight. "I'll be a moment. Just need to gather a few things," Cato growls, and disappears briefly through the back room. He emerges carrying a suit of black banded plate with scarlet inlay. The color is somewhat faded, and the armor is dented in several spots, indicating heavy use. A crude scene of a lone man in gladiator garb standing atop a pile of slain enemies, his sword raised aloft in victory, is displayed on the armor's breast. Cato hefts the armor towards Darius. "Here, boy. Multi-task. You can help me put this on while you search it for breadcrumbs or other incriminatin' evidence," Cato says in a voice so quiet it is almost a whisper. "Friend, I trust you have not forgotten your sword over the mantelpiece," he said to the bartender, avoiding the Hellknight's gaze if he so shoots at him. "I would not doubt our escort's word, nor his honor, but we are a large group--and large groups attract attention." Cato shows a toothy grin. "Spent years wishin' I could forget," Cato mutters bitterly, although he gives Raveen a nod of agreement. The tall man picks the sword off its display, runs an appraising finger over its edge, and shoulders it. "Ready when you are," he says to the group.
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