Ciarán Cú Mhór-ríoghain's page

Do me like I'm method 3.

If only I'd died saving you all, that would be perfect

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

Well, that's not good

Ciaran swims to the surface and takes a deep breath, unaware of any krakens that may or may not be creeping up on him.

Seeing Dennis ruthlessly attacking the innocent yak, the team's archeologist looks at the flying dinosaur with a look like she is going to give a dissertation on the difference between lizards, dinosaurs and birds. Even before she starts to speak, Bazsil yawns in preparation!

Slumber hex, DC17 will or Dennis falls asleep.

Although to be clear, pteranodons are not lizards, dinosaurs or birds, so her lecture is a bit irrelevant to the current situation.

Gratum and Gado: It's probably not worth you spending your resources if you don't want to here. Mtumbwi and I seem to have the eels in hand; save the big guns for the kraken.

Attracted by the blood and flesh of its dead companion, the third eel darts towards Ciaran, who strikes through the expanding cloud of exploded fish to strike it in its open mouth.

Attack vs eel: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (7) + 10 = 17
Damage: 1d8 + 14 ⇒ (4) + 14 = 18

Assuming it's dead He swims towards the last eel, falling into a flank with Mtumbwi.

Round 3 if needed
Attack vs eel, flanking: 1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 10 + 2 = 15
Damage: 1d8 + 14 ⇒ (5) + 14 = 19

Ciaran readies his harpoon and watches the eels approach with cold anticipation. When they are within range, he strikes!

Rage, accurate stance (move), attack

Attack vs. eel, accurate stance, power attack, rage: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (20) + 10 = 30
Confirm crit: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (14) + 10 = 24

Damage: 3d8 + 42 ⇒ (3, 5, 3) + 42 = 53

That's an eel that's not coming back

I just assumed you'd died.

"It is Xochimitl. You should learn it."

Oh, the delicious, delicious irony.

So can I get a wand, scroll or potion of resist energy from the village or not?

"I will go first," says Ciaran. "Even with my cracked ribs, I should be able to hold my breath for longer than Gado or Gratum." He politely doesn't draw attention to Gratum's unease on the water. "And I'm most likely to survive this undersea burning. If it's not something I can kill, Gado and Mtumbwi will need to watch to try to learn what they can from it.

"It'd probably take all 3 of you to pull me up anyway. Especially if I'm attacked by a kraken," he says with the faintest quirk of his lips.

Ciaran gets to his feet, pulls his shirt and boots off, hefts the harpoon he borrowed from Tanaroa, tucks a pair of daggers into his waistband, and otherwise readies himself to go overboard.

"Does anyone have any resistance to the elements they could share?"

While I'm thinking about it, do the villagers have any ability to make potions for us? It would be useful to know long-term, and it would also be useful now if a potion of resist energy was available before we left (I didn't want to interrupt the action to ask, now we're here).

Knowledge (nature): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

I'm pretty sure I know what's down there, but that's a roll to see if I can think of a list of creatures or natural events that could account for what we've heard.

Wandering around the newly constructed rooster pen, Mtumbwi sprinkles some dried grain fruits on the ground.

"So Tudail, you want to separate the roosters out right away from the other, weaker poults. Find ones that are big and strong. Aggressive. We keep doing this until you find a small flock and then you start fighting them. Make sure to separate them before too long. I will leave for a bit, a&*@*&#s what to head out. Keep doing what you are doing and Harlan can help you out. If he starts spouting numbers, well just tell him 'I'll put my foot up your arse' . Seems to work for me.

"So outside your walls. Did you do any ranging? We will probably head to the tar pit first, possibly up the coast. Maybe I can get a group of locals that know their way around the sea to do some exploring.

"Elon, what do you have for a hangover? I have a mild case of the s#&#s too. Not sure if they're related."

Mtumbwi would like to head along the coast as a sort of advanced scout the day before everyone else leaves. Any and all are welcome. Go about 3-4 hours north along the coast before heading back. Since the tar pits are north and all.

"I will come with you."

Ciaran nods.

"I just hope he's read at least one book and knows what to do with it."

"Well, I guess it's not the worst plan I've ever heard," Barbarosa addresses the companions. The last hour spent on dry land seems not to have improved his attitude at all, "The Audacious will be ready for you off the coast whenever you need her... but you have to do me a favor first. Since the natives love you so damned much, see if you can figure out if there are any dangers along the coast. Their longboats don't go far but they can at least stay within sight of land. I'm hoping they've been out of the bay."

"How about - assuming intel from the locals is favourable - we meet at that bight on the west coast in a week's time?"

I thought I had by demonstration. Oh well.

"If we follow the road for two days, we will leave these areas unexplored. Once there, we can either keep pressing on in the same direction - towards the gods at the centre of the island - or we can start a more systematic side to side pattern."

Ciaran desperately wants to drink to relieve his pain, but does little more than wet his lips with it, not wanting to fall back into the drunken pit he recently escaped from.

His evening is therefore spent sitting in the one spot by the fire, painfully eating everything that comes within arm's reach.

Whenever is relevant...

"Logistically, we have three options - the resources we can carry with us, the ship, and (for as long as they remain friendly), the village. We should consider having the ship parallel us along the coast, so they we have their resources and a method of quick extraction should we need it in the event of an emergency. Or at least having it wait in designated harbours to check in with at set times. It would be risky for them though, although I'm sure Barbarosa would think it was worth it.

"We also need to decide what our goals are. Do we want to explore the island step by step, or do we want to head straight to the centre to see this 'home of the gods'? There's also the matter of the road, which we could follow for as long as it lasts."

"I'm going to need more healing tonight then."

"Tomorrow? Have we collected enough supplies and intelligence on what's beyond the wall to set out so soon?"

Ciaran nods stiffly at Mtumbwi's words (despite the healing, he's still barely able to move) and takes the first bite of the heart. Raw, bloody flesh with the toughness of leather.

"Thank you," he says, although it's not entirely clear whether he says it to Mtumbwi or the dead mastodon, or to the gods themselves.

Ciaran comes round to see Gratum and Matla peering down at him.

He coughs - blood flecking his spittle - and moans in agony as the coughing reveals several broken ribs and bruised organs.

"Am I dead?"

He tries to get up, but collapses immediately with another groan of pain. "Is the yak dead? Aeslin? Gado? Anyone else?"

Clutching at his chest with what is later revealed to be a fractured wrist, he moans again. "I dreamed I saw my family," he says muzzily. "And all the others. That bastard Andross. I've seen a lot of people die over the years."

"It's unfair I should be in this much pain and not dead."

The yak moos loudly as he sees his friends under attack, though no one important seems to be hurt yet.

;)

Sorry, Barley likes me because I secretly feed him treats and scratch him when no one is looking. See upthread :)

I go to sleep, and wake up to find you've nearly killed me.

I think you've forgotten my DR again, Damien. You've also got "Slam damage vs Mtumbwi" that should be against me too.

Ciaran - too badly injured even to swear - weaves unevenly on his feet as the beast rounds on him, before shaking his head to clear it.

"I need some help," he calls to the spellcasters, blood streaming from a dozen grazes and cuts. He has little hope of rescue, as most of the healers are on the other side of the mastodon (and Elon wouldn't help him anyway).

As he looks round, though, he sees the mammoth's charge has brought it dangerously close to Aeslin, Gado and Femi. He steps protectively in front of Aeslin, and tries to shield her and Gado from the beast as best he can.

Grimly, he attempts to make his last actions count.

5 ft step, standard action attack - I can't even drink a potion or the AoO will kill me

Attack vs mastodon, enlarged greatsword, power attack, accurate stance, flanking: 1d20 + 11 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 11 + 2 = 22
Damage vs mastodon: 3d6 + 16 ⇒ (3, 1, 2) + 16 = 22

Aeslin has soft cover, Mtumbwi is flanking for the brief moment that I'm still alive

Ciaran - now enormous - hunkers down in the undergrowth opposite Mtumbwi.

Stealth: 1d20 - 5 ⇒ (13) - 5 = 8

As quietly as he can (which is not that quietly), he waits for the signal.

The plan - as he understands it - is that Bazsil will attract the mammoth. Once it is within range, Aeslin will attempt to send it to sleep. If anything goes wrong, he and Mtumbwi will step in to save Bazsil.

Baszil will give the signal to be ready, whereupon Ciaran will rage and assume an accurate stance (move).

Ciaran rolls his eyes at Aeslin and Bazsil's interaction, and then silently but obviously counts to 10 under his breath at Mtumbwi's outburst.

"I should check the terms of my contract," he mutters to himself. "Maybe I can insist that I'm Barbarosa's bodyguard. Spend some more time with Wrigley or the Colonel."

More loudly, he says through gritted teeth, "Why don't we follow you and Aeslin then? In silence, so we can sneak up on our prey. In silence."

Nothing from Ciaran. Bummer...moving on.

Sorry everyone - the week before Christmas has turned out to be insanely busy for a wide variety of difficult reasons. I'm back now.

Ciaran awkwardly kneels in his armour to look at the ground where Barley has been stomping. Despite the tropical heat and oppressive humidity, he is fully armoured and equipped. The grim set of his jaw is the only hint of any discomfort he might feel.

Perception - possibly just as aiding Bazsil: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15
Kn(nature): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24

"Barley's found... something here, I think," he says. "His hoof marks have covered them over a bit, but they look big enough even for Bazsil. They're heading north."

To Gado, he says, "You should save your spell for when we come in sight of the creatures. If we can ambush them, cast it before we attack. If not, cast it as soon as you can, if there's nothing more important to do. What can you tell me about these mammoths and mastidonts and tricer... other creatures?"

Two minutes in, he holds up a hand. "Gado, what can you tell me that's relevant to killing them? Are they immune to fire? Do they stampede? Are they intelligent? Can they fly?"

I just... have a lot... of emotions.

Just wanted to say I LOVED the back and forth with Ixchel, and then Mtumbwi jumping on board with the conversation.

Nice work Ciaran.

Oh - and totally didn't meant to make it seem like you were the last option for Gado, I was trying to get the vibe across that everyone was grateful Gado wasn't approaching them with his excited outburst.

Then after I posted I realized that was much more an Aeslin thing to do...

We are still friends :) (I hope)

When I've stopped crying myself to sleep, I'll let you know :)

Does the wall extend into the sea? What's to stop things just walking around it?

I think you said "exaggerate" when you meant "extol"

"He also has a great sense of humour."

"Have I not told you repeatedly how brave and resourceful and clever he is? Yes, those impressed by the muscles and mind of an ox" (he ignores a plaintive moo from Barley) "might choose differently" Ciaran waves a hand vaguely towards Bazsil. "But a truly wise woman knows that there are greater strengths, because all muscles tire eventually, but minds become sharper, and courage never dims.

"His small size makes his children stealthy hunters with nimble and skilled hands."

"His is a mighty, hidden strength. And also surprising dexterity and stamina. He is also brave, having dived from our boat into terrible storm-wracked seas to save another man from drowning, and is therefore not afraid to talk about the wall and the things beyond it. So great a provider and protector is he."

“As I was telling his third wife - Gado is a loremaster of great renown and high demand, and has many satisfied wives because of his deep understanding of many fields of learning - Gado is insatiable and highly skilled in his pursuit of knowledge."

"Gado is a mighty warrior of the mind, and would like to know how many generations ago the gods built the wall, and whether they did it through magic or through teams of your ancestors."

That left Ciaran.

And I thought we were friends.

As Barley moos again, Ciaran surreptitiously scratches him behind the ears when no one is looking.

"It looks to me like the wall is made out of blocks," he says to Gado and Gratum. "Which means there are two places it could have come from originally: magic or mundane. Either it's been quarried from somewhere on the island or it's been conjured by magic. If it's conjured my magic, I believe you can tell how powerful the wizard by how much stone is conjured in each block. If it was quarried naturally, it could have been transported and built by magic, or by labour."

He looks around, and finds a woman watching curiously nearby (reasoning that, given the matriarchal society, women are most likely to know the histories and stories of this place - but not wanting to bother the Chief while she's busy considering Bazsil's virginity).

"Madam, could you help us please? We wish to know more about your history and the gods who made the wall. My name is Ciaran; this is Gratum, our engineer; and this is Gado Folklo, a wise and powerful arcanist who is our guide, mentor and protector. And this is Barley, who is a yak."

"Chief, ignore please Bazsil. He what my people is call, 'amadán.' His ways not... sharp. Many others group leathcheann. Some iontaofa" Ciaran gives a halting attempt to speak the island tongue.

Giving up, he pokes Femi. "Ask her where the cannibals come from and how often. Specifically - if she says, 'over the sea' I'm going to be... annoyed with you." Ciaran glowers down at Femi. The sound of his teeth grinding has been audible all through Aeslin's story and Bazsil's attempts to seduce the Chief.

To Bazsil and Gratum, he says "These people could never build that wall. Compare the palisade here to that. What did that woman on Dawa say about gods walking the earth at the time of their ancestors?

"We could offer them some expertise to defend their village. I know Bazsil doesn't need any help with the ladies, but that might buy some of the rest of us some credit with them, if we're to gather supplies for going beyond the wall." He nudges Gado (quite hard). "If we had someone who was clever."

"It'd be good to find out some more about these demons summoned on Dawa too."

Damien, didn't you say before that the tar pits were this side of the wall? Above, it sounds like the Chief says they're beyond the wall. Are both correct from what I've seen, or am I misunderstanding?

Incidentally, I feel honey, sugar and salt would make good presents. They'd be quite difficult for the islanders to get in large quantities (even salt) and would be quite nice to have.

Real historical precedent too

"Tangerinians? Aroden's death! Tangerinians?"

Baszil returns to the discussion after freshening up. He carries two mugs of Steelkeg amber, offering the second mug Ciaran.

"Have they fought again yet?" Bazsil asks Ciaran. "Think we can goad her into hitting him again? Might be good for a show, won't it?"

Baszil sits and slurps, keeping an ear to the discussion, but feeling like he's earned his relaxation.

Ciaran takes the beer and shrugs.

"Not yet, but it's just a matter of time. A crown says they're at it again as soon as we make landfall."

"Unless I am right about the zombie master being in league with the cannibals. But that was a S.W.A.G."

Gado blinks a couple times, returning the blank stares.

"Sophisticated Wild Ass Guess." He answers their unspoken question.

"The ancestors we saw were a combination of skeletal and fleshy. If the Zombie Master were in league with the cannibals, they wouldn't be fleshy. And their skulls would have been cracked open to get to the brain, the marrow sucked, the eyes removed - that sort of thing."

"Is it strictly necessary that we butcher or otherwise 'deal with' the next Zombie Master? As that chief said, we know nothing about their culture. We could try a non-hostile approach. I'm sure the Isle of Dread will be dangerous enough without unnecessarily getting every tribe in the chain off side.

"At the very least, we should try to learn more about whether they're exploiting their people or not."

"Perhaps next time we can work out a plan in advance?" says Ciaran, drawing on the oars once everyone is aboard.

"Something like a 'no talking' rule for some people. Or even a 'no seeing' rule.

"We still don't know where the cannibals are, so our next welcome might be even less friendly. Particularly if the culture of all the islands is to venerate their ancestors and hate magic."

Ciaran withdraws slowly, trying to find where Elon has gone, and making sure the others retreat before he does.

"Well, this is going well," he mutters to himself through gritted teeth. "That was what, 5 minutes?"

We've come back from a couple of weeks off to self-destruct without even getting to the main island :)

Everyone else does it to me - it's only fair I do it to you :) It's the problem of living in the wrong timezone

Ciaran, having been watching Cihuateteo carefully, is moving as soon as the words start coming out of his mouth. He sprints across to the Zombie Master, attempting to sweep him up in a rugby tackle.

Grapple: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13

+2 for charging?

If Aeslin's slumber hex goes off first and he passes out, he skids to a halt right in front of him instead.

"They come at night, mostly."

:)

"I can hear you, you know."

Given the presence of magic, I suspect matriarchal societies are even more likely to arise on Golarion than they are on the real world.

"Tell her we can help with the cannibals," Ciaran rumbles, poking Femi in the back.

He eyes Cihuateteo with the practiced blank face of a guardsman.

"And... whatever else they may need."

"Could you all stop pissing about?" says Ciaran.

"Gabor, perhaps you could tell the chief that we'd be honoured to meet her and hope to build some mutually beneficial arrangement. Or some s*&& like that."

He shrugs and waves a hand at Femi to take over.

Just passing the time