Conrad Mendelson's page

What I infer from your posts (and here I might be wrong, but at least it's how I understand it) is that we wouldn't be allowed, as players, to bring up terminating a pregnancy as a topic for religious reasons.

I understand that boundaries can be tough to negotiate, and I fully respect 'under no circumstances do I want x to happen to my character in-game because of personal reasons'. But if I don't have the space to discuss or oppose views that are not my own in a game about collaborative writing, then it's pretty much the opposite of fun for me.

Everyone has the right to write the story of their characters however they seem fit, as long as there no consequences on other PCs. I wouldn't want to cross out the parts in my notes about Conrad's mother losing pregnancies because someone else at the table objects to this topic.

Additionally, I think that an issue as important as women's health and the inherent risks of childbirth deserves a bit more grace and consideration than simply being erased and treated as offensive. On the greater scheme of things, you're entitled to your faith; but I'm entitled to live my life without having to suffer through the consequences of your faith, and I no longer feel comfortable at this table if I'm expected to follow rules derived from a religion that is not mine, and enforced by political forces threatening my civil rights.

Thank you for the compliments, but I'm still leaving.

I've had a lot of women in my life having a pregnancy end (or choosing to terminate one) for a great variety of reasons. It has never been a taboo, and I do not believe we should silence the fact that women are dying or becoming infertile because they have no access to proper medical care. I could die in Texas if a pregnancy goes bad (or even if I'm forcefully impregnated, according to the current law).

If the topic cannot even be brought up in a fictional setting, no matter how slight the reference, then I would rather bow out than keep quiet on something that has every woman's life at stake.

This sentiment - so foreign to the gent - managed to draw his attention away from Ameiko up on the stage. "Really?" The animated brow gave a vigorous spring. "Huh. At university, all the chaps had me do was run through the Language Department with a cherry between my cheeks. It's a funny old world, what?"

Part of Conrad wants to believe that Willie means his mouth. Another, more level-headed part, knows, with rock-hard certainty, that he doesn't.

And apparently everyone has had some 'rite of passage' of some sort. He wonders if that makes him weird if he didn't have one. Unless that one thing in a barn with the blacksmith's son counts. Or maybe the first time he punched a dude for money?

Neither memories are things he'd like to share at any table, though - for entirely different reasons.

""While you are correct, the letter is an invitation not a requirement, rejecting without an acceptable reason would be considered rude."[/b

He meets the half-elf's eager gaze, and sighs. [b]"Sure," he says reluctantly. He takes another, longer sip from his beer.

"Hunting b-boars is not that easy," Conrad gives Willie a sobering look. "They're ag-gressive if you cross their t-territory. Especially f-females with p-piglets. They c-charge you."

"You n-need a s-spear with wings on the s-sides. So it c-can stay in if the b-boar impales itself on it," he explains, with rather eloquent gestures to punctuate this graphic image.

"I'm no exp-pert, but I think I could rec-cognise its p-prints."

Conrad is very thankful that someone else is reading the letter aloud; if it had been him, they'd all be stuck here for some time. He quietly sips his beer, only raising an astonished eyebrow when Cailyn mentions how much they will be paid. He almost chokes on his pint. "F-Fifty c-crowns?" he repeats in a strangled voice. That's a lot more he's ever had. That's a lot more he's ever seen. He's not even sure his parents' house (including everything inside) would amount to fifty crowns. And all that for a boar?

"So a boar hunt, eh? I'll have the privilege of your company then, too. Ripping! I don't suppose we have any seasoned hunters among us?"

"I did some p-poaching," he says distractedly. "B-But mostly for small g-game." He frowns. "B-But wait - did he say this b-boar had a specific n-name?"

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23 More info about what a boar hunt will probably entail?

""'A fiery woman wreathed in flame'? Hell's teeth! Not much to get this town excited. A long tom's lit her farts on fire and everyone's a-goggle."

Again, Conrad cannot repress a smile and a snort.

He has no idea who Iesha is, and Dare and Ameiko know a lot more about the Foxgloves than he does. Still, he tries to chime in. "And w-where's the estate? Is it s-still standing after the fire?"

What a relief! Good to know you're both doing better.

Conrad notices the shudder. "D-did he do anything," he pauses, looking for a tactful way to phrase what he has in mind. "Rude?"

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13

"And sure, you c-can talk to us," he gives a bit of an uncomfortable shrug. "I mean, you're d-doing it right now - we're n-not really heroes."

Sorry to read that, GM. Take care.

Conrad frowns. Weren't they supposed to meet them at another tavern?

There's way too many of them, he thinks. His old village only had one. You couldn't get lost - no matter how drunk you were.

"I'm s-starting to t-think you're q-quite the m-mother hen," he grins. He still opens the parcel, and offers half of its content to Dare. Well, more like two-thirds.

""Hell's Teeth, I knew Jubrayl wasn't... well, you know, high end or anything. But good gods, that was like seeing a scene in a seedy play with a Sczarni villain. It's like he's tried to live up to the stereotypes all at once. How... He's just pathetic, isn't he? He's pathetic! A joke! I was worried about what that sad sack of yesterday's whiskey piss is going to do to me? You don't understand. My boss. My old boss in Magnimar. He dressed nice and did business with the upper crust. Oh, those businesses covered all kinds of rotten s$#$. But he never condescended to look like it. Never used the merchandise, so to speak. Earned the loyalty of his workers by treating them right. Sure, he'd crush your head into the adamantine door of his vault if he you'd crossed him, but if you did as you were supposed to, you were in good. He was absolutely f@%+ing terrifying. But he was a terrifying boss. That... that deflated rotting donkey scrotum back there up his own fatman's a*$!+!~!... he's nothing. He's nothing!"[/b[

Conrad can't help but laugh a little when his companion gets creative with her insults. The tension ease out from his shoulders.

He does frown when Dare asks him to celebrate her elation with some drinks. He still remembers the kind of stuff she had him drinking last time. [b]"S-Shouldn't we save that for l-later?" he suggests - a bit too late. She was already striding towards the Dragon.

He makes a note to himself not to lash onto anything stronger than goat milk, just in case she needs to be carried out of the pub in a wheelbarrow.

Well. Not anything stronger than a pint of very light beer, he corrects himself.

There's a moment of silence as Conrad breathes in the fresh air deeply, cooling down the fury that's been boiling his blood. Little by little, he feels his mind clear.

"Should we g-go join the others?" he eventually suggests, avoiding meeting Dare's eyes. He's afraid to read disappointment in them.

As Jubrayl suggests the two newcomers could join them, the red-head eyes Conrad with a hunger that wouldn't have been out of place on a wolf. Her eyes practically smolder as she turns and teasingly lets the blanket covering her slip some to show that she had little to nothing on underneath it, as obvious an invitation as there ever was.

Poor guy can't catch a break

Even with his pretty limited understanding of how the Sczarni work, it's evident this Jubrayl guy has no intention of letting Dare walk away from his sorry-looking gang.

Anger flares up so brutally, it nearly leaves him breathless. He pays no attention to the tantalizing flesh that's offered to him.

"You d-don't ask family to b-bed," he retorts sharply, with a nod towards the golden coins. "You know she's o-out." He glares t Jubrayl, and storms off before his self-control wears off and he ends up sucker punching him in his perfect golden teeth.

Charisma: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6

Eh, it may seem wasteful, but I'm going to burn my hero point on this one for a reroll. I don't want to actively piss him off. Yet.

Charisma: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8

Bangs head into keyboard and cries

Gosh, that was painful to read.

"No." Worry flashes across Conrad's face. "D-do you have a pen and p-paper?" he asks the redhead girl.

Conrad is happy to let Dare take the lead - they're on her turf after all.

""Yeah, he's in. Upstairs, to the right, door at the end of the hall. Had company last night, if you know what I mean. Wild party last night."

It'd take either an idiot or someone very naive indeed not to know what Brox means - and Conrad is neither. It does nothing to deter him. Iulian might not be in the best of moods, but as for debauchery, he's seen his fair share. "Let's g-go," he tugs on Dare's sleeve, and heads for the stairs.

Conrad leans towards Dare. "[smaller]You want to go up and q-question him?[smaller]" he whispers, with a nod towards Iulian.

"Mayb-be we should go talk to him," Conrad whispers to his nearest teammate. He glances at Scrapeknee. Obviously the guy is out of earshot. Conrad wonders if he can hear anything at all from this conversation.

"What about those r-ruins?" Conrad interjects, lifting his eyes up for the first time to meet Tera's gaze. "If the Sczarni have an interest in t-them, m-maybe it'd b-be worth it to t-tell us what you know."

"I just hope any of that made any sense at all so we can go back to Caitlyn's question: do you have any idea what Jubrayl might want from you? Information? Favors? Kidnap you for ransom? Personal slaves?"

Conrad can't help but twitch. But he doesn't say anything.

Judging by what Dare says about the Sczarni, there's little doubt they absolutely could stoop that low.

Conrad is not at all at ease with the idea of questioning the two women. Much like Scrapeknee (who seemed to have found the perfect pretext to walk away), he'd rather be somewhere else entirely.

He does attempt to catch a glance of Tera and Joanna's expressions, and see if they looked as surprised as they sounded. That's not easy to do when you're trying to keep your eyes downcast at the same time.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 1 = 11

"I fear denying it does no good, Conrad, old boy," Willie said with good humor contrasting a sagacious shaking of the head. "For you see, love is much like those extra pounds accrued during the winter feasts: either you punish yourself rigorously to rid yourself of it, or it becomes part of you for the rest of your days. Ghastly, ghastly stuff! But you may take heart in knowing that should you wish to pitch the woo to darling Jo, then I shall be happy to guide you every step of the way."

"It's not ex-xactly love," Conrad protests - though, almost immediately, he realises how that might not help his case, especially in front of respectable people like Father Zantus. "It's f-flirt," he quickly adds, less his intentions might be misconstrued.

"And we can't get distracted by flirtation, neither."

Conrad looks about to say something, but then he renounces. At least she used the right word. That's probably how you could recognise your true friends in such a situation.

He honestly couldn't fathom why everyone seemed so keen on seeing either him or Joanna get down on one knee, as it were. It wasn't as if this looked like it could go anywhere beyond mild flirtation. Gosh, even the word made him cringe.

At the White Deer:

Conrad meekly greets Joanna and Tera, and plops down on a chair. He carefully avoids Joanna's gaze, instead staring at his own hands resting on his lap.

Sorry guys, I'm completely fried (and the congress isn't even over!). Will catch up on Tuesday at the latest.

"I d-d-don't have mutual interest," Conrad's defensiveness and blushing cheeks say otherwise. He does turn red easily; it's absolutely impossible not to notice.

I'll be travelling to attend a conference from Thursday to Sunday. Will perhaps manage to get a quick post in, but probably won't have access to my computer. Bot me if needed!

Dare's explanation is a bit hard to follow, but Conrad's pretty sure he's got the gist of it. Mostly that she's up to her neck in trouble, and that she didn't really do anything to deserve it.

Well, asides from that whole orphanage thing - but for some reason, he found himself wanting to believing her. She didn't strike him as the killing-with-arson type. She was too sensitive for that, despite all that brashness of hers, and her faith in Desna was sincere, if her vision was anything to go by. Would a goddess close to Shelyn ever look fondly on a worshipper with an evil heart? He didn't believe so. Besides, he remembered all too well the butterflies delicately burned into the wood.

"We'll figure it out," he says sympathetically. "Tog-gether. As a g-group. And if the Sczarni w-want you, they'll have to g-go through us."

It's easy to let oneself slip into less than commendable activities. Conrad's got some first-hand experience of that. Yet the thought that could be one big misunderstanding makes him feel, despite himself, a little more hopeful that he was too quick to judge the two women.

He hesitates. "Are you sure you were n-not lied to?" he eventually asks Dare in a small voice.

Willie's display of boyish camaraderie is met with stony silence, and a subtle side-step.

Conrad gets lost in rather uncomfortable thoughts until Dare's outburst snaps him back to reality. "Let's f-find out what they know then," he says resolutely.

""They're a bunch of loosely allied gangs that lie, cheat, steal, and sometimes kill."

Conrad goes very pale, and then very red. "And J-Joanna and T-Tera are p-part of them?" he asks with some difficulty, stammering even more than usual.

"I know this is a personal matter, but what gods do all of you follow."

"Shelyn." Conrad murmurs. He's too distracted to think of what everyone might have to say about his faith right now. "Like Joanna. I think." He lowers his eyes instinctively, suddenly very absorbed by the contemplation of his own toes.

"Conrad had a vision of some sort, he shared it with Joanna. So you may want to talk to Dani and her for yet more details some of us missed."

Conrad feels obligated to elaborate. "We were d-dressed with the robes of the Shelynite c-clergy, he explains. "And there was a wing-ged man, telling us there was more to c-come than the g-goblin attack? We had to swear to p-protect Sandpoint."

"What Sczarni merchants are interested in the ruins?"

"Joanna and Tera."

"Sczarni?" Conrad repeats, at a loss. He thinks he's heard that word a couple of times before. He's quite distressed to notice that it usually wasn't in a praising tone.

"Maybe she's more exp-p-perienced than we are," Conrad interjects, though without spite. "B-But we'll do our b-best," he adds.

"D-did Father Tob-byn have any enemies?"

"Cailyn, the White Deer had a guest once who boasted he had taken down skeletons once. I thought at the time he was pulling my leg, but he did mention that he carried a mace as a back up weapon because ... ''Poking and a slashing ain't much use against fleshless bones walking about''. It would explain why such a perfect shot came to naught." He suggests.

Conrad glances down at his flail. "Oh. That's g-good."

He casts nervous glances around him. "Should we g-go? Move f-forward, I mean."

"Gods," Conrad swears under his breath when he sees the empty sarcophagus.

He peers at the dusty ground, wondering if anyone who stole the corpse (he tries not to think of the alternative) left footprints.

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

Never say 'this will be a quick and easy battle' :P

"That one was t-tough," Conrad lowers his flail. He shoots a worried look at Lita. "Yeah, you're b-bleeding."

Conrad grabs his flail to deliver a powerful blow to the skeleton, but unfortunately his aim is wrong, and the head of his weapon just takes out a chunk off the undead's shoulder instead of crushing its skull.

Attack: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
Damage: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

"Do these imprints spell anything for you, dear fellows?"

"Not r-really," Conrad replies snappishly. It's unclear if he's more exasperated at Willie's meddling, or the mysterious footprints.

The noises that come out of the crypt are nothing like anything Conrad's ever heard. It certainly doesn't sound like flesh, or any rebellious teenager prancing around. Hell, it doesn't even sound like metal being dragged across stone. It sounds... drier, somehow. More brittle. Like the scraping of bones against rock.

It makes Willie's selective blindness rather infuriating, really. How the man survived this long is beyond him.

"We'll g-go," Conrad says decisively. He crouches down to inspect the prints. They look bigger than the ones left by goblins' feet. He wonders who the hell could have slipped into the crypt unnoticed. Were they even from Sandpoint?

Survival: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

Conrad quickly wolfs down his sausage when he sees Father Zantus striding towards the group. He's slightly overestimated how fast he could eat, because he's still munching on his improvised breakfast when the priest reaches them.

Still here!

Thanks Cailyn! :)

Any news from our GM?

Something in Dare's tone reminds Conrad of when his mum ordered him to "shut up and eat his vegetables". He accepts the sausage with a timid "thank you" and begins munching on it without a further word of protest. "It's d-delicious," he nods after a few bites.

"What I mean, is that there is no evil to fight. We trounced the goblins and trounced them well; they're gone. If there is some wooly threat out there, we'll have to find it ourselves. And we are... we are a basilisk team sent out on to the field by coaches who saw fit to blind us all. If we are to trample forth in the dark, we should be dashed careful. It was only last year one such blighter rushed into the spectator stands thinking it the opponent's goalkeeper, and if gossip holds true, that little old lady still isn't on her feet."

"There's always evil to f-fight," Conrad chimes in with surprising solemnity. "And it's not hard to find, even b-blind."

Conrad clearly hesitates when Dare hands him a sausage, but eventually shakes his head. "I'm g-good," he lies. If Dare goes along with her plan of donating her leftovers to the wounded, there's probably children who need this food more than he does.

"What would you c-consider a holler?" he scrunches his face. "Like, a shared d-dream, a d-divine vision or something? Or for the G-Gods to show up p-personally to tell you where to g-go?"

"D-Dream or not, town's b-been attacked. It's far from over."

Conrad struggles to keep up with Dare's sudden ramblings about breakfast, and is about to ask for more details, when she fishes her leftovers from her backpack. "It d-does smell g-good," he concedes.

He is suddenly very, very aware that he hasn't eaten much since he last went to bed. His mouth begins to water. "D-does she make p-pancakes like that every d-day?" he asks as innocently as possible. His tone, however, more than suggests that he wouldn't mind finding that out for himself.

Conrad doesn't dare chime in with a description of his own silken, rainbow-coloured clothes. "We were w-wearing the robes of Shelyn's c-clerics," he still explains.

Thanks for telling us, and keep us updated!

"I d-don't know yet," Conrad can't help but roll his eyes. "B-but these visions are not n-normal. Unless you've had them o-often?"

No problem!

Call me desperately European, but I'm intrigued by the snake story.

"So it's not d-doomed if we c-can d-do something about it," Conrad nods resolutely - but his voice falters somewhat.

Maybe he needs to convince himself of it too.