Conan O'Brien's page

My recently-retired bardbarian/DDI, Conan O'Brien, brought a very large store of bad, bad PF/D&D themed jokes. Also his keen greatsword (named 'Wit'), and his flaming rubber chicken.

A tall, muscular, red-haired half-elf with a booming voice and a rubber chicken tucked at his belt strides into the lodge grinning.

"Say, did you all hear about the fire in the Varisian circus?"

He pauses, expectantly-- though only for a few seconds, he's had his punchlines robbed out from under him before-- and answers his own question loudly.

"IT WAS IN TENTS. AHAH. GET IT?

"...ahem. Anyway! I'm looking for young agents, new to this lodge, eager to test their teeth! And also their feet, and hands, and various other body parts. Ah but not those body parts, it's not THAT sort of mission. Er... I sort of forgot where I was going with this... OH, RIGHT:

"The lucky agents will get to travel to my adopted country of ANDORAN, home of LIBERTY and FREEDOM, for a bracing trek into the WOODS. It should be very HEALTHY. Good clean Andoran air! Free of the taint of slavery and devil-worship! Sign up today!"

He tacks a parchment to the messageboard, waving a hand for the eager junior agents to sign up.

Recruiting for a classic game of Tide of Morning, #0-23, levels 1-5. As I have two conventions coming up on back to back weekends, the game won't start until April 12. This also is to give new players to the lodge who don't check it regularly plenty of time to sign. I am preferentially taking new players, where new players/beginners can be defined as people new to PBP, new to PFS, or with very limited play experience so far (first or second PFS registered character, only a few sessions under your belt, that sort of thing). To some extent it may, accordingly, be a learning game. If you sign up, please list whether or not you consider yourself a beginner by any of those metrics or by some metric I didn't list. I'm not opposed to taking more seasoned players to round out the table, but this is meant to be a chance for the players who are still learning the ropes. If I get more than six players I may use a lotto system/consider experience or party balance to determine the table. Thanks!

Tide of Morning sign-up

Conan beams, pleased with this response from Voros and taking it at face value. With that, he cheerfully offers to buy a drink for any of the others before they all begin the long journey back to Absalom.

;)

Conan grins at his friends, both new and old alike, with hearty shoulder-clasps all around, as they come within sight of Tymon.

"WELL DONE, fellow HEROES. It was a pleasure to work with you! As a parting note.... VOROS, DO YOU KNOW HOW THE ALCHEMIST TURNED SOUP INTO GOLD?"

Conan grins brightly, anticipating guesses, but if none are offered...

*fistbumps all around* Had a great time, thanks for a good run guys. Glad to kill ROBBOTS with a skilled team!

I have my sheet, looks great. Thanks Lithrac!

Conan takes a deep breath of the blessedly clean, gas-free air, then offers a crisp salute to Jala.

"Hello again! It appears that your people have a GOOD DEAL OF SENSE in staying out of that place!" he says in a slightly-tired version of his usual booming voice. "There was some MALEVOLENT ENTITY within that sought to poison us with her POOR ATTITUDE and VERY BAD BREATH."

Conan resheaths his blade with a head shake. "She was very rude," he confides to Jala with a tap to the side of his nose. "And I think the bowels of that place will be very TOXIC for ages. I don't imagine anyone else should go in for a long time, IF EVER."

At the question, he blinks in an innocent fashion, his clear blue eyes settling on Jala with a slightly hurt expression.

"Of course not, Madam Wolf. We had an agreement, no? I understand that some foreigners may seek to cheat your people, but CONAN O'BRIEN is a HERO. I aim the light of truth at the corrupt through HUMOR; I am no dealer in FALSEHOODS.

"--besides, we were mostly running for our lives. Even if we had wished to cheat on our bargain, we simply wouldn't have had time," Conan adds with a shrug, and busies himself shaking his glorious red hair free of the acrid stench of the poison.

Bluff: 1d20 + 20 ⇒ (15) + 20 = 35 I'll take it~

Not a suggestion Conan would make ICly, but as table talk: Alie could turn herself invisible as we got near the entrance (but before we hit line of sight of any Ghost Wolves who might be watching the door), while carrying any stuff we want to take out; at that point the rest of us (sans Alie) emerge enough to see where the Ghost Wolves are, communicate that discreetly to Alie versus message, and she can invisibly D-Door out 800 feet away from them using hopeful terrain cover to block line of sight if they have any sort of true seeing up/etc.

At which point we sadly explain that one of our number died inside and that it's true the technology is terribly and risky and should be left alone. ;)

(Lumpy of course could instead be the one to exit that way if Alie cast invisibility on him, etc).

Drawback: the party member in question would have to make their way back to civilization on their own since they couldn't rejoin us during our Ghost Wolf escort back, etc.

/just an idle notion

After this scenario, Conan's only got one session left of play before retirement so, speaking OOCly, the possible loot loss for giving up some tech gear doesn't matter too much to me. I realize others may feel differently!

Just for OOC clarity: Conan's vote is put Isidrah in the pouch, leave anything else, and bluff our way past the Wolves. If there's other small stuff that will fit in the pouch, Conan has no objections to taking it-- if we get caught, well, we were already getting caught, so whatever-- but it's not his priority, he just doesn't morally agree with leaving Isidrah here to languish for X more years (the acid might or might not harm her, but even just being left here would be kinda harsh). Other votes welcome.

"I am willing to be very convincing!" Conan beams.

Book-keeping: four rounds of Alie's haste have now elapsed by my count, leaving us seven. Moving at hasted speeds, we can probably book a pretty quick time back for the entrance, I think/hope...

Conan unhooks his waterskin from his belt-- it's technically filled with beer, this is thirsty work to be the life of the party all the time!-- and up-ends it over himself to try and rinse off the bone-chilling unpleasant sensation of his life ebbing away.

Reflex, haste, fatigue: 1d20 + 13 + 1 - 1 ⇒ (16) + 13 + 1 - 1 = 29 Hopefully good! Did I take any more negative energy damage at the start of my turn before making the save? Negative if so: 1d10 ⇒ 1

"HA! Now that's some HAIR OF THE HAUNT THAT BIT ME," says the man who is now dripping with beer. "Let us hurry, my friends, even my mighty constitution might not survive a COMPLETE immersion in acid."

Conan snatches up his wand of shield from the floor and starts to jog back the way they came. "Now we have a slight CONUNDRUM, my friends! We are carrying a good many objects we promised we wouldn't-- including our very flat and portable friend there! It would seem CRUEL to leave her here, what is our plan? I can be very CONVINCING in the right circumstance!"

Conan realizes he just repeated some of what Elindriel said. "--yes!" he agrees boomingly. "What she said. But I do think it would be cold to leave her here. She's been nice."

(If we have to lie our way out with Isirah, I'm currently at a +20 bluff. If we want to try and truthfully explain/convince, there's others much better than that than me. :) Figure we might be shouting our game plan at each other as we run.)

Conan strides hurriedly back to the others, ignoring his own wracking pain for the moment to draw a potion instead. "If you are AFFLICTED by the gas you should DRINK THIS," he says, proffering his remaining antitoxin.

End rage, fatigued for 4 rounds. Move adjacent to Voros and Elindriel, get out an antitoxin to offer anyone who needs one for the +5 alchemical bonus. I just have the one left, so first dibs, but Elindriel probably needs it more...

Negative energy damage: 1d10 ⇒ 7

We aim to amuse. How could I pass up the double pun? ;)

"MADAM, I HAVE NOT YET BEGUN TO PUN," Conan shouts in answer to Isidrah's fury, shrugging off the powerful slam he takes from the acidic creature as a mere flesh wound. "I SEE YOU'RE FOND OF ACID. PERMIT ME, IN TURN, TO...."

Conan's greatsword lashes out at the last surrogate!

Attack 1 (Rage, Heroism, PA, bardic, haste): 1d20 + 16 + 3 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 16 + 3 + 1 + 2 = 40 Potential Critical
Damage, adamantine, magic: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (3, 4) + 22 + 5 = 34

Confirm Attack 1 (Rage, Heroism, PA, bardic, haste)?: 1d20 + 16 + 3 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 16 + 3 + 1 + 2 = 31
Extra Critical Damage, adamantine, magic: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (1, 4) + 22 + 5 = 32

Attack 2 (Rage, Heroism, PA, bardic, haste): 1d20 + 11 + 3 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 11 + 3 + 1 + 2 = 19
Damage, adamantine, magic: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (4, 2) + 22 + 5 = 33

Attack 3 - hasted (Rage, Heroism, PA, bardic, haste): 1d20 + 16 + 3 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 16 + 3 + 1 + 2 = 34
Damage, adamantine, magic: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (2, 6) + 22 + 5 = 35

Attack 4 - Spirit wisps: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (18) + 12 = 30
Negative energy damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

"...DROP THE BASE. (untz untz untz untz)"

(Additional negative energy damage taken by Conan this turn): 1d10 ⇒ 3

Feeling inspired by Elindriel's banner, and spurred on by Alie's magical speed, Conan lashes out with a roar, his muscles bulging.

(Raging, starting attacks on purple, if purple drops he will 5'ft step adjacent to green and continue them)

Conan withers the withering acidic storm with barely a flinch, chuckling.

Delaying actual action to let Elindriel post, since I'm OOCly assuming she'll start a bardic performance etc

Kn Planes: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12

Conan has no idea what he's looking but let's be real, that's never stopped him before. He snaps his wrist and wand, barks a quick command word, and strides forward to draw the brunt of the enemy's attacks, even as he drops the wand at his feet.

(swift - draw wand of shield; std; activate wand (can't fail UMD currently), move: move, free; drop wand/readjust grip on sword)

"COME THEN, YOU GREAT WINDBAGS!" Conan says, laughing unconcernedly.

AC now 29, 30 if adjacent to two foes (crowd control)

Kn Engineering, Heroism: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

Conan is at a loss as to why everyone else is reacting.

Conan happily uses Alie's wand on her before returning it, giving her a thumbs up signal. He restores his own wand to its location. "Now THEN! The combat was very confusing what with the GIANT SCREENS and so forth, but am I correct that I heard the LARGE, UNPLEASANT FACE give the same name as the trapped woman in the little glass? Should we... ASK HER ABOUT THAT? Perhaps this is a variation on a MIRROR IMAGE spell."

(I say west simply to have a direction, but, yeah, so Isirah's haunt is haunting this place but also her consciousness is preserved inside our portable plate? Maybe we should ask her if there's a way to set her to rest or something? Or even to see if she has a reaction to what just went down.)

"We should see to the injured before we PROCEED," Conan says. "Who is hurt? I am only lightly singed myself, haha! She does not know I have a THICK SKIN."

CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7
CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6
CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

Conan taps himself with one of his myriad wands a few times. "ANYONE ELSE?"

Laughing still at the foolishness of the attempt to corrupt his HEROIC WILL, Conan turns his blade on the next swirling cloud. "Pick on someone your own size, SIRRAH WINDBAG! ...well, closer to it, at least!"

Will, enchantments: 1d20 + 13 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 13 + 2 = 29

Conan's booming laugh rolls out in the room. "DEAR WOMAN," he informs the scowling visage, "I have been heckled by the WORST OF ABSALOM. You will have to do better than THAT!

"Friends, be aware that her eyes seek to BEND YOUR SOUL to her will."

=24 acid damage; if successful Fort save, 0 con damage?

Conan shifts his grip on his sword and roars a challenge in answer to the acid searing his skin. Bellowing wordlessly, he hacks into the cloudy forms. His muscles bulge, and insubstantial forms arise around him as well, answering the swirling noxious figures.

"An elemental form? What sort of element?" Conan asks eagerly. "Acid would be a very impressive elemental form! I know everyone thinks FIRE IS BEST, but there's a lot of things that don't burn, you know!"

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Conan is pleased his friends are hopefully neutralizing the stinky cloud vents, as he thinks of them.

"Acid is better because it is CAUSTIC. Like WIT. You should definitely go with an ACID BODY-- now how do we make that for you, madam? Must we gather some sort of COMPONENTS for this body?"

Conan thinks this woman is incredibly rude and has no intentions of making her a body, but one of the benefits of coming off as a big moron to everyone is that he's actually a pretty good liar. If you can't dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with b*+~!#*@, right?

Bluffing to try and keep getting info out of Isirah, or trying to: 1d20 + 18 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 18 + 2 = 37

Oh, I'm sure she'll notice. ;) But it might buy a round of getting into position. Although, depending on where the room's cameras are pointed, she may not actually have a complete view of the room...

Huh, somehow I didn't see the last new post. Sorry, GM!

Conan throws an uncertain look over his shoulder at the others. "Does she know we're not LOCAL to the region?" he stage-whispers.

Turning back to the glass, he clears his throat. "We're not LOCAL to the region, MADAM. That is to say, we're not 'natives'. I myself am from HUNDREDS of miles away," he says earnestly. "The air is CLEANER IN MY HOMELAND. But if we're trespassing we don't want TROUBLE-- but a PERHAPS you'll permit us to live isn't really very REASSURING, MADAM."

Conan locks eyes with Lumpy and Voros during his brief shoulder-glance-over, and darts said eyes at the vents in the walls.

Convey Secret Message via Bluff: 1d20 + 18 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 18 + 2 = 38 DC 38 Sense Motive for the lady, haha, unless you circumstantially want to make it easier given this is not a really obscure message here~

(mental note to self to cast my own Message spell after this scene, since Lumpy's doesn't let me originate messages out to the party)

"North it is!" Conan agrees in his booming voice, pleased he could be of use in helping keep his companions ship-shape. He settles forward in the point position again, the greatsword drawn.

Conan blinks as the fog clears. "--that was quick! Well done, Voros and Lumpy! Does anyone need help, that fog was NASTY."

(I have a spare potion of lesser resto if Alie or Elindriel need it)

Fortitude vs poison: 1d20 + 15 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 15 + 5 = 31

If it's per normal cloudkill, that's still half the Con damage on a successful save, right? If so: 1d4 ⇒ 2 so 1 Con damage. Is this also functioning as cloudkill including the 'it will move away from its origin point' bit, or is it impossible to tell that before a round has elapsed? Conan would want to start hauling buddies out of the fog if it seems there's a safe direction to do that in, but he may not ICly know that. I'll delay actual action until that gets answered either yea or nay.

If he'd need a spellcraft or KN religion roll to try and ascertain the answer to that moving away thing, I can attempt those. Same bonus either way.

On the behavior of fart jokes, I mean clouds: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

Perc: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

"Eh?" says Conan. He is distracted by trying to think of what sort of joke you tell a mind trapped in a sheet of glass.

"Do not worry, I know MANY jokes," Conan hastens to reassure the trapped intelligence. Then he pauses.

"--an important part of HUMOR is shared cultural CONTEXT. What is funny to a GOBLIN, for instance, may not be funny to an ELF. Because goblins like things like setting fire to house-cats, and eating babies, because they are EVIL ABOMINATIONS. And elves like things like poetry and artistic bonsai because they are SORT OF BORING. But mostly they are nice people."

He clears his throat. "What I am meaning to say is can you tell us a LITTLE MORE ABOUT YOURSELF? I understand you do not REMEMBER A LOT. Can you tell us any more about this.... space ship?"

Conan listens raptly. After Elindriel and Alie have been golden-tongued towards the sheet, he leans forward and adds:

"Have you been stuck in that sheet a long time? Do you know any good jokes? ...or would you like to?"

"The sheet's talking?" Conan says in a stage whisper, wide-eyed.

"Gosh," Conan says admiringly of Lumpy's swift identifying of many of the alien items. "The last time I was in Numeria we just smashed everything in case it was a trap! It's nice you know what these things are!"

Conan looks uncertainly at the skeleton. "I wonder how that person died. Did the wires eat their brain?"

(not taking or using any of the gear here)

Untrained heal for lolz: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (4) - 1 = 3

"...The wires definitely ate their brain," Conan intones solemnly.

(Will wait on the metal harvesting, yes. Either we'll come back out this way or.... all die inside! :D)

Conan bows his thanks to the Ghost Wolves, but does not gather up the rubble at this time. The adrenaline is coursing through him still! He wants to bite more ROBBOTS.

End rage, performance, and claws as soon as BigBot drops. Fatigued four rounds after end of combat-- would preferably not be going forward into the tunnels until those four rounds, at least, have elapsed. Actions if allowed:

Round 1: reload wand of shield into S.L.W.S
Round 2-4: draw wand of CLW, tap self

CLW: 3d8 + 3 ⇒ (8, 1, 5) + 3 = 17

Assuming we'll wait til we're all ready to proceed (Alie healed, etc) I'll throw another wand charge on myself

CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9 Full here. Can activate wands if anyone needs them but I think several other people can do that as well for time purposes.

Conan looks almost disappointed when the enormous ROBBOT falls in short order. He spits out a few shards of metal from between his teeth, then looks down at the detritus. "--ooh, shiny," he says of the gleaming bits of precious metal.

"Noble GHOST WOLVES, is it alright if we take trophies from our slain foe? I would not wish to TRESPASS accidentally on your rules," Conan says, even as he starts messing with several wands on his person, healing his burns and so forth. He looks a little winded, but it passes about a half a minute later.

"Ready to proceed!! OH, those are good spells, Lumpy. GOOD WORK."

Under normal marching order I will be happy to take point, but with Lumpy as spotter-of-dangers I'm also happy to let him do so.

Conan laughs uproariously at the terrible metal implements that miss him. He steps forward, lashing out again with his sword and his teeth. The writhing figures around him also strike, flowing against the metal like smoke.

Taking the +2 Ghost Wolf bonus.

Attack #1: Haste, Bardic, GW: 1d20 + 16 + 1 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 16 + 1 + 3 + 2 = 24
Adamantine Damage, bardic/flag: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (6, 3) + 22 + 5 = 36

Attack #2 - Iterative - Ditto: 1d20 + 11 + 1 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 11 + 1 + 3 + 2 = 28
Adamantine Damage, bardic/flag: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (1, 5) + 22 + 5 = 33

Attack #3- Hasted - Haste, Bardic, GW: 1d20 + 16 + 1 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 16 + 1 + 3 + 2 = 40 (Potential Critical)
Adamantine Damage, bardic/flag: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (1, 4) + 22 + 5 = 32

Confirm Attack #3?: 1d20 + 16 + 1 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 16 + 1 + 3 + 2 = 41
Extra Critical Adamantine Damage, bardic/flag: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (4, 2) + 22 + 5 = 33

Attack #4: Dragon Bite (2/7 rds): 1d20 + 10 + 1 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 10 + 1 + 3 + 2 = 36 (Potential Critical)
Bite Damage, magical, not adamantine, bardic/flag, extra acid damage: 1d6 + 7 + 5 + 1d6 ⇒ (3) + 7 + 5 + (1) = 16

Confirm Attack #4?: 1d20 + 10 + 1 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 10 + 1 + 3 + 2 = 32
Extra critical bite damage (not adamantine): 1d6 + 7 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 7 + 5 = 13

Attack #5 (Spirit wisps): 1d20 + 12 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 12 + 2 = 20
Damage, negative energy damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

(Lumpy didn't say they weren't able to be critted, just harder to crit on; ignore the crit confirmations if I'm wrong though!)

Fortitude save: 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (15) + 15 = 30

"...ow," Conan growls at the sonic bombardment. "This is not ROCK AND ROLL after all. I fear these foes are made of very HEAVY METAL."

He steps forward to strike in tandem with Lumpy, tightening his grip on his blade and roaring his fury at the enemy. His muscles bulge, his face becomes more draconic including ferocious teeth, and twisting ghost-like wisps rise around his body.

5-ft step, free action to start rage (controlled rage, no AC drop), free action to grow dragon bite. He'll start actions on teal (flanking with Lumpy), and if Teal drops, he'll move to white. AC and to-hit go up by one due to Crowd Control. I won't get Flagbearer (attack) bonus since it won't stack with Heroism. Subtract the +2 for flank if I wind up moving to the white ROBBOT.

Attack #1: Haste, Crowd Control, Lumpy's Thing, Bardic, flank: 1d20 + 16 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 16 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 = 39
Adamantine Damage, bardic/flag: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (5, 5) + 22 + 5 = 37

Attack #2: Ditto: 1d20 + 11 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 11 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 = 40 (Potential critical)
Adamantine Damage, bardic/flag: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (3, 2) + 22 + 5 = 32

Confirm Attack #2: 1d20 + 11 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 11 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 = 24
Bonus Critical Damage, bardic/flag: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (2, 4) + 22 + 5 = 33

Attack #3 (Hasted): Haste, Crowd Control, Lumpy's Thing, Bardic, flank: 1d20 + 16 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 16 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 = 43
Adamantine Damage, bardic/flag: 2d6 + 22 + 5 ⇒ (5, 5) + 22 + 5 = 37

Attack #4: Dragon Bite (1/7 rds): 1d20 + 10 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 10 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 = 41 (Potential critical)
Bite Damage, magical, not adamantine, bardic/flag, extra acid damage: 1d6 + 7 + 5 + 1d6 ⇒ (1) + 7 + 5 + (3) = 16

Confirm Attack #4: 1d20 + 10 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 10 + 1 + 1 + 4 + 3 + 2 = 33
Bonus Critical Bite Damage, magical, not adamantine, bardic/flag: 1d6 + 7 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 7 + 5 = 17

Attack #5 (Spirit wisps): 1d20 + 12 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 12 + 2 = 25
Damage, negative energy damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

(Conan starts a bardic performance as an immediate action since he (hopefully) confirmed at least one of those criticals; however the morale bonuses won't stack, so this just becomes 4 temp HP for him. AC now 30 with haste/31 if adjacent to 2 or more enemies.)

"RUST IN PEACE!!!!" Conan roars through his fanged maw as the battle-fever takes hold of him.

Conan looks left and looks right, but sees nothing to merit swinging at. He snaps his hand forward, causing a wand to fall into it from his wrist, and says a quick phrase in Draconic, then shoves the wand into his belt rather than let it fall to the shaking earth.

"Noble Ghost Wolves! Do you know what is causing this ROCK AND ROLL?"

Swift: activate spring-loaded wrist sheath to draw wand of shield;
Std: cast shield (can't fail UMD currently);
Move: stow wand.
(5 ft step forward)

Conan will indeed make preparations! Extended heroism and extended feather step on himself (extended via rod). The parenthetical values for his saves in his stat line/etc reflect his values with Heroism up. These will both will last 120 minutes. Conan will also drink an antitoxin and an antiplague at this point.

Perception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

Conan has no idea what Lumpy is talking about-- but doesn't think it likely that Lumpy would lie.

"I feel NOTHING, my friend, but that smoke ahead looks AWFUL. Try not to breathe it in!"

He unslings his blade from his back, always happier to have it in hand.

"I'M HAPPY TO DESCEND FIRST, ONCE WE'RE ALL READY."

Sorry, had a busy weekend then hit some food poisoning yesterday evening. Hwurgh. *types*

Conan earnestly nods through the chieftain's words. "We go to leave only FOOTPRINTS and take only... DESCRIPTIONS."

He has no technological items on his person, but allows the Ghost Wolves to look through his belongings openly.

Conan briefly offers a respectful nod to Xol-Nomag across the distance but lets the chieftain decide when she wishes to initiate anything further. Instead he listens eagerly to the tales of the Ghost Wolves, slapping his thigh especially hard at the story of the spine dragon.

When the Ghost Wolves turn their attention towards the Pathfinders for stories, Conan muses a moment, then unsheathes his blade once again and settles it across his knees, turning it so the adamantine length catches the glow of the feast's fires and resting his callused hands atop it.

(Minor potential spoilers for Cosmic Captive ahead, skip Conan's post if you don't want them!)

"I speak of a land both DISTANT and CLOSE, a land one may not WALK TO but must be sent to by MAGIC. There is a star that travels through the sky called AUCTURN'S TEAR, and though it is a SMALL LIGHT to our eyes, it is a world within itself-- one filled with DANGEROUS FOES. I traveled there with other brave Pathfinders not long past!

"The first creatures we fought were made of EARTH AND CLAY. They attacked us on sight, and we defended ourselves! In the battle I took several blows from their fists, but I did not fall, HAHA! Pain is the warrior's close companion!

"But after the battle there was a STRANGE DISCOVERY. The wounds the CLAY MAN had left on my body could not be healed! The pain was to be a CLOSER COMPANION than I had expected.

"It is EASY TO FIGHT when one is fresh to battle and at one's best. The true test of the warrior comes when ADVERSITY strikes and one feels crippled by fate. Does a HERO turn to lick his wounds and try again another day? Or does a hero STAND YET before his comrades-- or hers-- to be a wall of steel and flesh between them and danger??

"I am thankful I did not bring SHAME upon my glorious ancestors by being unworthy of their blood. I stood as befits a son of dragons, and shielded my companions with my flesh, injured though it was!"

Conan is silent a bit, then sheathes his sword once more. "That is all."

(In the first fight of CC, got hit with an effect that took me down to about 60% max HP... and we couldn't heal that 40% damage, ahaha. Played the next five hours like that... good times.)

Conan will make friends the best way he knows how, of course: jokes. He lets the more mystically-inclined members of the group address the mystics, and seeks out the children of the camp, cheerfully rough-housing with the children and 'sparring' with them in careful fashion, explaining techniques he has used to fight the Technic League during his previous encounter with them. After all, long-term diplomacy requires one to win over the hearts and minds of the next generation!

In deference to the youth of the Ghost Wolf children, Conan does not break out his dirtier jokes.

"Alright then, young Ghost Pups! Let us test your wits! How did the alchemist turn soup into gold?"

"What does an infernal chicken lay?"

"Finally, why can't you ever borrow money from a halfling?"

Perform Comedy: 1d20 + 18 ⇒ (11) + 18 = 29

(Sorry! busy days!)

Conan beams as his weapon is complimented. He draws the blade and permits Jala to inspect it-- it's indeed a handsome weapon, an easy four feet from tip to pommel, the blade forged of gleaming star-metal with an inscription in Draconic runes down the length of it.

"You HONOR ME, Jala Spirit-eye! I am Conan O'Brien, and this is my blade, named WIT! That is because its edge is very KEEN, ha, yes? With I have cut down ROBBOTS and foul DEMONS alike. Most recently I raised it against a titanic dragon in a world that swung far from our own: a wyrm made of crystal glass, an evil creature that threw spells and wielded claw and tooth alike. This blade has cut down creatures risen from the grave, and Chelish slavers profiting off the living. I draw it in defense of RIGHTEOUSNESS and FREEDOM wheresoever I go! It was forged in the City of the Center of the World, and given to me after my words had spurred a slaver to renounce his foul ways forever. Do your own arms have SUCH TALES, for I would like to hear them!!!"

Conan blinks at Lumpy's in-depth primer on the region and the natives. When Lumpy finishes he says, "....

"...ah wait! Did you say there are ROBBOTS? I have fought these before!" Conan pats the sword on his back, made of the same metal as the axe they are taking as a gift. "It was also in Numeria. And some of those nasty Technic League people were there. We explored a hole in the ground with a strange dungeon, where we fell towards the ceiling! And the walls spat fire at us. Very PAINFUL. I wonder if those are the same LIGHT BEAMS of which you speak, LUMPY."

Conan rubs at his jaw, trying to think of jokes about ROBBOTS. Maybe one will come to him.

"Do any of us speak the language of the Kellid people? It's true that humor is a UNIVERSAL TONGUE, but that doesn't always work so well as you might think."

Conan opens his mouth to give Alie the answer-- but Elindriel beats him to it. He pauses a moment, one hand hung in mid-air, seemingly wavering on the verge of disappointment..... then it translates into a big grin.

"YOU'VE SEEN MY SHOW!"

"ALIE!" Conan booms when he catches sight of the gnome, and barrels at her with arms outstretched for a hug, though he stops short of actually scooping her up and lets her complete the hug if she is so inclined. It's been explained to Conan that some agents don't necessarily consider a single shared mission to be grounds for a life-long bonding experience. He's baffled by that logic but accepts it's true for some people. "Where have you been lately? Have you fought more DEMONS like on our GLORIOUS ADVENTURE into the Worldwound?"

Hearing instead of xill and ethereal planes, Conan frowns. "I'm SORRY you have had a rough time, Alie. Don't worry. THIS MISSION WILL BE BETTER."

He eyes Voros but as he does not know the tiefling he simply offers an awkward smile and stage whispers to Lumpy: "It seems SEVERAL of our NUMBER have suffered recent SETBACKS. I'll keep spirits up with some jokes."

He looks sympathetic at the revelation that the stones did indeed hurt. And delighted that Lumpy is interested in his show. And when Elindriel offers her greeting he brightens at seeing yet another half-elf, and offers her a bow. "WELL MET!

"Let's see. A JOKE, because HUMOR is a great BONDING TOOL:

"Where are you when a winged demon corners you against a cliff?"

A few things mechanically about Conan for the GM/party, I know we're probably not ready to start just yet but doing it while I remember:

-If you're within 30' of him you have a constant +6 morale bonus on saves vs fear effects
-Power attack will be on for every attack unless I say otherwise
-Urban barbarian, will always rage for STR unless I say otherwise
-Crowd control, AC goes up by 1 if adjacent to 2 or more enemies
-He has Combat Reflexes, Uncanny Dodge, and Blindsense, which can be a thing to remember if we get invisible foes or the like

I think that's it! He's fairly simple.

Here is another half-elf, though the similarities between him and Lumpy seem to end there. Where Lumpy has the evidence of Garundi heritage, Conan's seems likelier to be Ulfen judging by his pale skin, red hair, and blue eyes-- also his height, several inches above six feet, and his thunderously awesome biceps.

Conan is dressed in clothing in Andoran-blue, as well as a brightly polished mithral breastplate that is nearly as dazzling as his smile; an enormous greatsword is strapped across his back along with a panoply of other weaponry. There's the usual shiny headband and fancy magic boots and belts and a ring and other such goodies common to Pathfinder agents. There is also, tucked at Conan's belt, what appears to be a rubber chicken.

Conan listens to Lumpy's introduction with sincere interest, his legs planted somewhat apart and his thumbs hooked into his belt loops.

"--DID THOSE HURT?" he asks in a booming voice when Lumpy finishes, staring at all the little stones jammed under his skin. "--I'm sorry! That's rude of me to ask! You're quite right, Plucky."

He claps the smaller man on the shoulder. "Don't WORRY about the UNSAVORY thing. I'm someone who's PRETTY SECURE in my-- savorability. Yes. HA!

"You probably recognize me from my tour last summer, Make the Inner Sea Laugh Again, or perhaps you've caught my act down at the Homicidal Fey Trickster by the docks? THAT'S A REALLY GOOD BAR, I LIKE IT THERE.

"But if you haven't! I'm CONAN O'BRIEN, and it is my solemn and gods-given duty to lift the MORALE of my fellow agents by CAREFUL APPLICATION OF WIT AND HUMOR. Also, to kill things! Bad things, I mean, not just everything. You know. Demons, and Chelish slavers, and things like that," Conan helpfully clarifies.

"Oh, and this is Plucky," Conan adds on, tapping the rubber chicken. The big warrior's face falls momentarily. "He used to be Flamey. But a daemon put him out. I'm working on fixing that. Let me know if anybody knows a cleric!

"It's very nice to meet you all." Conan appears to mean this very sincerely, even if he has some trouble with the concept of an inside voice.

I too love bards. :D Versatility ftw. And haha, yes, placebo effect also ftw.

WE DON'T NEED NO STEENKIN HEALER

WHAT'S A FEW CRIPPLING STATUS CONDITIONS BETWEEN FRIENDS

/famous last words

Conan sits in the foyer of the Absalom Lodge, a rubber chicken in one hand. Junior agents give him a wide berth as he tells 'jokes' to his chicken and it responds.

"Say, Plucky, what do you call it when a vampire slays a snowman and raises it as undead?"

"Gee, Conan, I don't know, what?"

"FROSTBITE!! AHAHAHAHA!"

Someone eventually gives him some gold coins in a futile effort to get him to leave.

Day Job: Perform Comedy, Green Market boon: 1d20 + 18 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 18 + 2 = 40

....maybe someone actually liked that joke!