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Once again I'm neglecting the boards, and once again, I feel bad about it, but this time I cannot in good conscience try to continue. I need to put aside as many distractions as I can to finish my college work. It's hard enough to make myself focus as it is, and this is just stringing people along. If I can get to the point where my grade is secured, I'll think about picking this up again; for now though, don't worry about this game. It'll be here when we're ready for it.
Alright, so between my procrastination and the myriad of things/people wanting my attention, I'm not at home right now, hence it's taken me this long to notice new messages. I'm about to ask Siegfried point-blank about the game; same goes for Freyr. Now, the question is thus: if it turns out one or both of them don't show any real enthusiasm for continuing, shall we try to recruit more in the near future? It'd be nice to get the roster back up to four or so, but we don't necessarily have to...especially since I've been equally slow about moving things forward. Our pace has been nothing short of glacial by any standard, and my lack of planning can be squarely blamed for a lot of that. What are your thoughts?
The sounds of guttural shouts and howling echo up from the mountain pass leading to town. You see guards, mostly Dwarves, heading to the gatehouse; there are militiamen guiding citizens away from the front gate. The last rays of the sun are fading, leaving the warm colors of day to drain into the greys of night. At the command of a heavily armored Dwarf with a tower shield on his arm, the iron portcullis rattles loose from its divots in the ground, rising into its stone home. Guardsmen take places atop the gatehouse, crossbows loaded and pointed outward. The Dwarven juggernaut takes his place right in the center of the gateway, his platemail glowing in the torchlight. He hefts what looks to be a halberd in his right hand. He's joined by a small phalanx of his kinsmen, armed with longspears, all braced to defend the entrance to the town. He bellows out a challenge in Dwarven that even non-Dwarvish speakers could interpret as-- "LET THEM COME!!" His troops roar in agreement. They are prepared to spill orc blood tonight.
perception 15:
As the horde rounds the bend and comes into view from far off, you can hear the barking and growling of wolves--big ones. perception 20:
There's something else amid the shouting and grunting: a distant rumbling, grinding sound, like heavy wheels on stone. What do you do?
The locale doesn't strike any familiar chords with anyone at the table. All that's clear is that it is underground, and that there is something important at the X. Your study is interrupted by a gust of wind as the tavern door is shoved open. In steps an armored figure, longsword at his side. He casts a stern gaze across the tavern, the marches hurriedly to Tagren, who is returning from the kitchen. He speaks in hushed tones, but his body language clearly speaks of restrained panic. Tagren's eyes go wide in alarm as the warrior turns to leave. "TORIS!" he bellows, dashing back into the kitchen. The two return a few moments later, with Toris rushing upstairs as fast as his thick legs will carry him; you hear him banging on doors with urgency. Tagren steps out in front of the bar, waving his arms to grab the attention of the remaining patrons. "Time ta go, good folks! We've got inbound!" He yells. The few stragglers still nursing their drinks exchange worried looks, down their mugs, tear off the last bites of food, and beat a hasty retreat. Everyone in Skyridge knows that when Tagren lets guests go without paying, it can only mean one thing: Orcs.
Going to assume Freyr is basically inactive at this point until I see him again. Reminded him a couple days ago and still no post. I'm going to try moving things forward for now and see how things play out.
As Edric lifts the cake and peers at the dish beneath, he spies what looks like engravings in the smooth surface. Upon closer inspection, and upon removing a few more slices of cake, the engraving appears to be a map. The drawings are of fair workmanship, and seem to depict a series of tunnels. One of the caves is marked with an X, and there is a small note written near the X: Take the job.
Pretty sure a few of us have.
Tagren glances at the retreating halfling band, then casts a knowing gaze at Edric, then Draken, motioning to the cake with a wink.. "Just make sure ye clean yer plate, boys...and be glad ye didn't lose that bet." he says under his breath.
With one final push, Draken forces Maccus's lithe arm to the table with a solid thud. The halfling grimaces in annoyance, but loosens his grip and sits back, accepting the loss. "Right then. Best laid plans," He mutters under his breath, rolling his now sore wrist. "So much for cake, eh boys?" He hops down from the table, stretching his arm; his crew, obviously as disappointed as him, gathers round, whispering among themselves as the group starts to drift toward a table at the opposite end of the tavern. Tagren, consummate professional that he is, stifles a laugh as he starts to return to the kitchen.
I guess I owe some folks an apology. My head's been on too many things at once lately. I've cleaned a thing or two off my plate, and I'm trying to get things back on track, especially here. Suppose we should all check in first, though. I know I wasn't the only one dragging feet, so let's have a head count of who's still here and wanting to keep the game going.
The not-so-surreptitious halfling flinches as he hears the clatter, but puts on his best innocent face as he looks over his shoulder at Edric. He stops, maintaining his position a healthy few feet from Draken, and continues cheering his leader on.
Tagren glances around the tavern hastily; spying no tables or new customers in need of service, he joins in the cheering, lending his bellowing voice...for Draken. Maccus frowns, casting a sidelong glance at Tagren; the momentary distraction causes his balance to falter...
Draken: Maccus pops his neck left and right, then hops up on a nearby chair, leaning over a table with his elbow propped up on the table, flexing his open fingers. As you match his position, almost engufling the halfling's hand with your own, it feels almost childlike, but there's a confidence in his posture that tells of experience. Maccus's crew gathers round the table, cheering and jeering; one of their number places his hands above the interlocking grips of Draken and Maccus, and he counts down. "Three...two...one...GO!" He releases you both and Maccus throws his meager weight into the contest, pulling with all his might as his crew cheers him on.
Edric and Siegfried: Maccus's cronies are crowded around the table; one of them is shifting closer to Draken.
The concerned chef casts his eyes back to the table, not wanting to take his gaze off the apparently-notorious halfling bunch. "Maccus Blackfoot 'n his boys. Best repair team in the city, and they know it. Cutpurses and con-men, too, if ye believe the right gossip. Mind your purses, lads." He glances at the letter in Siegfried's hand, shaking his head as 'Blackfoot' and his crew amble up to the bar, soot flying off them as they hop up into empty barstools. "Nay, weren't my hand. Know the seal, though; haven't seen it in half a century or so. Comes from up top; someone's got their eyes on all of ye, I'll wager." Amidst laughter and clanking mugs at the bar, one of the halflings happens to glance over at your table. His eyes light up when he spots Tagren; they go wide as dinner plates when he spots your cake. He nudges Maccus in the arm; the ruddy, black-haired crew boss spins on his stool, grinning like a spoiled child at the cake. He hops off his stool, saunters over to the table, and rolls his shoulders, shaking a bit of soot off his long sleeves. "Right then...any o' you mates a gamblin' sort? I got a week's pay says I can arm wrestle any of ya for that pretty plate on yer table!"
I've also been a bit mentally drained of late; apparently the only two classes left are those that should NEVER be taken concurrently. Now I know why...in any case, I plan to move us along shortly; sorry for the delays while I sort things out.
As the last warmth of the setting sun starts to seep out of the stones, a gust of chill wind blows through the tavern. The front doors swing open, revealing a stocky Dwarf with a thick, close-cropped head of hair and a short, neatly trimmed black beard. He's dressed warmly in the whites and apron of a professional cook, though a few splashes and smears adorn spots of his attire, as if he's been working in a hurry. In his hands he carries a brushed metal tray with a handled dome atop. He glances about the tavern hurriedly. "TORIS!" He bellows. "If those guests ain't still in their seats ye'll be workin' for scraps for a week!" A crash is heard from the kitchen; something was clearly dropped and broken in surprise. Toris appears at the kitchen door, eyes wide. "Tagren! Kharon's blood, what kept ye?" He points a finger towards your table. "Four, all in their seats, just like ye told me. They're all yours." As Tagred spots your table, he sighs with relief and approaches, moving drinks and meats out of the way to place the tray on the table. Rolling the stiffness out of his shoulders, he lifts the dome. Aromas of sweet spices and wafting heat suddenly embrace your nostrils as he reveals a rich orange cake. It's about two inches tall, moist and fluffy, topped with a whipped white cream, already perfectly sliced in eight wedges, and still giving off just a slight warmth. Tagren smiles proudly, wiping sweat from his brow with a sleeve. "Best enjoy that, lads. Don't want t'know how hard it was to get the foodstuffs t'make it, mark my words." Another gust blows through; the door swings open again, revealing a rowdy, laughing half dozen halfling workers, flecked with soot, pulling off gloves and caps to reveal jovial faces underneath. Tagred's eyes flash as he scans the group; he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Ach...here we go..."
If you're asking if you know anyone at the table, that's basically up to you guys. This world is still in it's formative stages, and a lot of gaps have yet to be filled in. I'll let you know if something you suggest is totally world-breaking or nonsensical, but otherwise, this is your time to start talking and figure out where you stand with each other. It's your story; I'm just the narrator/referee.
As the four of you take your seats in the corner table, Toris brings out a round of ale, breaking up the no doubt awkward silence. "Hope ye like goat," he chuckles. "Got some fine steaks and stew on the fire now." After setting down the drinks, he looks about the tavern warily before leaning in and lowering his voice. "You've no idea how long we been waitin' for those letters ta pop up here, lads. Jus' hope they're the real thing." Toris heads back to the kitchen, leaving you exchanging glances. Sundown draws near, dinner is on the way, and the tavern has quieted down. Some patrons linger at their tables while others arrive fresh for a drink. Shadows grow long as the sun starts to dip below the horizon; only the noise from the kitchen seems unaffected by the dusk hour. Scents of meat and potatoes waft out from the kitchen, but still there is no sign of Tagred, nor any indication of the sender of the letters. What do you do?
Just sent Freyr a PM to see if he's still on board. If he doesn't check in by Tuesday, I'll start making some choices. Sorry about the glacial pace, BTW. This quarter's a bit more grueling than the norm, and I've got a lot on my plate at the moment. I'll be trying to move things along soon.
Just waiting on Freyr before moving on...
The guardsman glances away from Toris long enough to notice the presented letters, then does a double take. "HAH! There's your math, Dwarf. A whole tableful." He strides up to the bar, leaning an elbow on it with a smug grin. "Now then, you were saying?" Toris rolls his eyes with a sigh, reaches into a pouch at his belt and counts out some silver, laying it out across the bar. "Aye, that's the lot of 'em. Take it and be off with ye then." He then motions to the letter holders, pointing to the table in the corner. "Have a seat, lads. Meal should be along shortly." The guard chuckles to himself as he scoops up his hard-earned pay, then turns to exit the tavern with a chipper smile. It's around 6:45 PM; some of the patrons are starting to file out, clearing some room near the back of the tavern near the reserved table. Though still populated, the Pick becomes noticeably less rowdy as elbow room becomes more plentiful. Toris makes his rounds, gathering up plates, flatware and mugs galore. The guard is gone, the table is yours, the noise is now much more tolerable, and you still have a few minutes before the appointed time. What do you do?
LOLwut...two guys argue with Dwarves and it's racist? Talk about jumping to conclusions...
Edric:
The guardsman perks up at your approach, scratching his chin. His uniform is well-maintained and bears a branded circle with a jagged peak, burned into the leather near the left shoulder--the insignia of Skyridge's standing militia.
He's obviously bored of his post; his posture is slouched and he acknowledges you lazily, rolling his eyes with a sigh of relief as you produce the letter and its wax seal. "Gods' mercy, it's high time you started showing up," he grumbles. "Damn Dwarves've had me babysitting this table for the last four hours instead of using it and cleaning it like an inn ought to do." He motions for you to sit, grabbing his halberd. "I'll go chide the 'keep to move things along; I'm ready to vacate this pig sty..." He then heads up to the bar. Toris shrugs his right shoulder to Siegfried, stepping down the bar to grab empty plates and mugs off it. "Don't know about anyone special; ain't seen Tagred since the start o' me shift, lad. Just said to hold down the bar and keep things afloat till he got back. Whenever that is." He spots Freyr as he moves about his work, nodding up to him with a chuckle. "Lad, it WAS yesterday. Ye bang yer head with a hammer again?" He raises a brow at Freyr's question, looking past him with a nod. "The guard? Methinks we're about t'find out, lad; here he comes." Draken:
The bouncer scoffs at your apparently silly question. "Well he certainly ain't mannin' the door, lad. Ask Toris," he gestures to the bar. "Always yellin' at him for somethin' or other..." he furrows his brow at the guardsman moving from the table to the bar. "Don't s'pose that's anythin' to do with you, is it lad?" The guard stops at the bar, letting the butt of his weapon thump the ground audibly as he addresses Toris. "Barkeep! Tagred Brewbane agreed to pay me to keep that table vacated until the proper guests arrived, and the first one's here. My job's done. Where's my pay?" Toris scratches his beard, frowning. "Errr...'guests' kinda means there's more'n one, don't it lad? Thought you were s'posed to make sure they're all here?" The guard taps his halberd on the floor, annoyed. "I didn't agree to haggle, Brewbane," he sneers. "The table's got someone to watch it, so I want what's owed me." Toris crosses his arms, slowly shaking his head. "I'm no scholar, but my math says job's not done." The guard fumes, flexing his grip on his halberd as he glares at the portly Dwarf...
Sorry my posting's been slow, guys. Adjusting from afternoon and night classes to suddenly needing to be up at 4 AM is painful. Looks like I'm gonna have some homework this quarter too, so I apologize in advance if I don't keep up the pace myself. I will do my best, however.
Quick request of everyone: it'll save a lot of time and reference to have a short stat block in the 'class' line of your profile, much as Draken's done; having some common bonuses like perception, AC/touch/flatfooted, current/max HP, and the like has proven very handy for many GM's and players alike. If there's stats you think you'll reference often, feel free to put them there; just don't try to crowd too much into it, and don't forget to update it when those numbers change.
The doorman appraises Edric, then shrugs, nodding towards the door. "Long as ye don't take someone's table, lad." He then steps back inside the building, clearing the path for regular business again. As you step inside, the atmosphere grows noticeably warmer compared to the chilly breeze outside, thanks to the various grated pipes in the grey chiseled stone floor. The ceiling hangs high enough for even the most towering of guests, the iron chandelier in the middle of the tavern notwithstanding. The place is alive with talk and laughter, accented by the occasional clink of flagons toasting and Dwarvish shouts from the kitchen. virtually every stone table seems to be surrounded by men and women and covered by mugs and plates of food. The smells of ale, bread, and coal-fired meats wafts through the air from the kitchen as you approach the crowded bar. A portly Dwarf with a neatly trimmed, shoulder length beard in a blue tunic and clean grey apron swishes a rag across the wooden counter top, sweeping crumbs onto the floor behind him; he sighs with relief as a swarthy patron gets up from his stool to leave; his eyes light up as he spots you. "Hail, folks; welcome to the Pick. Name's Toris; no tables free for the moment, but we've got plenty to drink." He nods up to Siegfried, tucking his rag into his apron as he brings a clean mug up from beneath the counter. "Rumors? course there're rumors. Long as people can flap their gums and suck in air there'll be rumors," he chuckles, turning round to tap a large keg. As the mug fills, he looks over his shoulder. "Heard the last caravan's actually laid claim to some lumber," he mentions, setting the mug down on the bar. "word's that they haven't lost any o' their number yet, either. Be nice to cook somethin' without the smell o' coal for once, aye?" eye spy with your little eyes...:
Edric: Draken: Freyr: Siegfried:
Through the jolly jostling crowds, you spot one table suspiciously empty, watched over by a burly guardsman in studded leather armor, his halberd leaning against the wall behind him.
@Edric: Truth be told, you're pretty spot on with the way you handle things. A short, brief internal monologue where appropriate, descriptive action, and an open end for any outcomes you don't control. You're definitely going in the right direction. Draken's post, while suitably in-depth, is also a bit more than we usually need. It's not a bad posts, just a little wordy. Re-iterating the previous post usually isn't necessary; it just adds to the word count. I'm not grading a research paper here--ROFL. Instead, a useful tactic to respond to something specific within a bigger post would be to use the 'quote' feature in the text formatting box. This is a good way to point out exactly what you're acting in response to, without having to repost whole blocks of text in your own words. It may also help to simply hit 'reply' on the post you wish to quote, then remove all but the relevant parts of it for your post. This has the benefit of clearly showing who you quoted and their exact words. As for checks in general? Don't worry too much about them proactively; just describe what you're doing and don't assume the outcome if there's any doubt what check you'll need, or whether you'll even need one. This leaves it open for me, or whoever's appropriate, to pick up right there, requesting the appropriate check There ARE times when it'll be absolutely clear you need to make a certain roll, but getting carried away with it ends up giving the dice center stage, instead of the players. I'm actually throwing around the idea of letting you type out your action and questions, then simply making the appropriate check for you as the beginning of my response post; not sure if people would appreciate seeing me roll all the dice, though... In any case, I'm already getting a good feel for everyone's narrative skill level, so hopefully we'll be able to use some tools and techniques to bump up everyone's PBP game a few notches before we're done, aye?
Rolling his eyes, the man wheels around to face the unamused Draken. His eyes widen as he slowly looks up; the ifrit warrior has a full head and half of extra height on the disgruntled citizen. "D-d-demon..." he stammers out, tripping over his own feet as he scrambles backwards. Once he finds his footing again, he sprints away in a panic. The doorman roars with laughter. "Aye, run home to ta yer mammy, ye nancy yearling! Go have some warm milk; sounds more yer speed. HA!" He gives Draken an approving nod and a chuckle. "Ye'd think they've heard of ya by now, eh Fireblood?"
Edric:
The seal is unfamiliar to you; it's certainly not of the cloudseekers. Perhaps someone higher up does recognize it; at this point you have no way of knowing for certain.
The Mithral Pick is one of the first and most prominent public faces for Skyridge, the Welcoming district, and the Brewbanes specifically, so they take great pains to ensure it is always secure and presentable. It is frequented by all kinds of citizens, though Dwarves are, unsurprisingly, the primary patrons and employees of the establishment. The inn is probably about twenty minutes away on foot. Finding your way through the streets of the Welcome district proves to be more of a challenge than one might expect: vendors are carting their goods to storage, herds of goats are being led back to their pens for the night, and guardsmen patrol in pairs. The flow of traffic around them resembles a river splashing against an outcropping of rock. As you reach the clearing which houses the Mithral Pick, you see the grand establishment come into full view. The building is tall, even for a three storied structure, primarily chiseled straight from the mountain. The stones are stained with blue in various patterns, in a process the Brewbanes have thus far declined to reveal to the public, with steel support beams reinforcing key points and creating an inlaid effect designed to catch the light and improve the building's visibility. Hooded stone outcroppings protrude a foot or two from the walls with oil flames burning within. Lights are aglow from within as talk and laughter echo forth.
You see the large a solid pillar of smooth black rock standing roughly four feet off the ground, sealed against the elements with a clear coat of polish, with a silvery mining pick inlaid in what the Brewbanes claim is actual mithral. Engraved below the icon in font resembling Dwarven runes is the inn's name: The Mithral Pick. A surly Dwarf emerged from the entrance, garbed in warm, well made attire, with a bear fur cape clasped about his shoulders. He looks disgruntled as he drags a struggling man behind him by the collar, slinging the poor oaf out into the street with a grunt. The ejected one lands with a thud and the soft crunch of fresh snow. "Reserved means it ain't yours, ye stone-eared piglet," the Dwarf barks out. "Twice yer told to move, and Kharon'll wake 'fore yer told thrice! Off with ye!" Groaning, the stout blonde fellow gets to his feet, brushing snow and dirt off his clothes; he glares at the bouncer. "I paid for my food and drink same as all the folk inside! What, I'm supposed to dine out here in the snow because you brick-headed fools can't count your tables? I thought you Dwarves were proud of your business sense!" The doorman folds his arms, spitting out into the snow with a flat stare at the . "Bleat all ye want, sheep. You're not grazin' here tonight." The man in the snow curls his fists with fury in his eyes...
I can't help but chuckle at our...diverse sets of opening posts. My inner voices are a bit of a noisy conference over it, but the short version is... this is going to be an interesting campaign...
REJOICE! Through the efforts of one of our valiant heroes, the directors of the Paizo boards have corrected the technical issue, and we are now free to begin our maiden voyage! Gameplay thread is up!
Evening comes to Skyridge, and with it, the familiar howl of the winter winds. The Welcome district bustles with activity. Farmers pull their livestock into shelter and cover their crops to shield them from the cold; families begin warming coal in their firepits. Halfling laborers scramble to finish scouring the streets of snow and filth, hoping to retreat to the undercarriage to stay warm among the pipes before the sun vanishes beneath the horizon once more. Skyknights bring their massive eagles in to roost above the rooftops, dropping their canvas curtains over their nests and securing them against the wind to block the coming chill. Amidst the hustle and bustle, a lone halfling, dressed in two and a half layers of thick cloth, appearing to all the world like a tiny brown yeti, dashes down the streets, rapidly scanning the populace and looking back down to a small scroll in his hands. his eyes light up as he spots his quarry, dashing up to you with a folded letter in his hands. "Here you go, sir! Read immediately, and stay warm!" he chirps out excitedly, before scurrying off to return to his rounds. The letter bears a grey wax seal in the shape of three talons. Breaking the seal, you see only a brief message: You have been deceived. I can show you the truth. Go to the Mithral Pick at sundown. Show the innkeeper the seal. Your table is waiting. The letter is unsigned. The sun hangs lazily above the horizon; sunset will occur for the welcome district within the hour.
I'm sorry about the delay, folks. I still have not found out what I'm doing wrong, or simply NOT doing, that's preventing us from moving forward, and none of the scant answers I've received so far have been any real help. If anyone manages to figure out why I can't make a post in my own gameplay thread, by all means share what you've found, but until then I have no realistic start date for this campaign. No one is more frustrated than me, but I simply don't know what else to try.
@Edric: I'm working on that. That's actually part of the snag I've hit, and I'm trying to find info on how to resolve it. I've already sent out some messages to potential help sources, but we will be delayed, unfortunately. @Freyr: just count the first roll as your second level roll, and assume your first level was the maximum HP.
As soon as I get pas the technical hurdle I'm facing, yes. The intro will be in gameplay, and the players should respond from there.
@ghost: Yes, first level was supposed to be a max HP roll. @Edric: That's called a majestic plural. I don't know that the council would speak quite like that, no. The council are individuals representing their own groups; most of them would probably be somewhat averse to using that form of address.
Probably the council, when in session at least.
Slight delay, everyone: technical issues have struck. I'll have the intro posted before tomorrow's out.
Ah HAH! And there's four! Was starting to worry we'd be a man shy. Today's the day, folks. I have four ready for adventure; to everyone else, sorry to cut the towline, but I promised not to let this drag out. Fate willing, there will be future campaigns, but for now, it's time to build some momentum. Freyr gram
are the final party. It's gonna be an interesting ride. I'll work on an intro post today, and things will kick off later this evening.
Apologies. Yes, we are still on. I've been preoccupied myself of late, with the school quarter nearing it's end. finals, projects, all that nonsense. Still ironing things out on my end and organizing; I've decided to go ahead and set down a deadline though, since we're really starting to lose momentum here. I hate to leave anyone out, but I also don't want to stagnate and lose everyone's interest, because then EVERYONE gets left out. The auspicious day will be September 18th. That's next Friday. Double check your stuff, clean up the ENGRISH if you spot any red squigglies and such, collaborate, get others to read your stuff and critique it for improvement, and just generally feel free to add that last layer of polish on your alias. Also, ASK QUESTIONS. Those questions I've received have already gone a long way toward bringing this world to life; logical questions help more than you know. I'll be posting an intro blurb most likely on Friday afternoon in the gameplay thread. At that time, I'll also announce the selected submissions that are complete and ready to go, so be ready! @Freyr, that column is actually 'max dex bonus.' This refers to how many points of your DEX bonus will actually count towards your AC while wearing that armor. It basically means that heavier armor doesn't allow to move and dodge as swiftly. In your case, as long as you're not wearing something with a max dex of 0, you'll 'waste' no AC.
@Edric: the Cloudseekers would likely be keenly interested in actual mages, but your level of affiliation would vary; your skillset and 'field of research' may or may not be precisely what they need more of at the time. Note that not all Cloudseekers are actual magic-users; many are simply skilled engineers, organizers, or experts in some relevant field of knowledge.
Hired? By the line guard? Seems farfetched. Granted, they primarily exist in my head as of yet, but I'd like to hear about that first...
Everyone, welcome our eighth and final party member, appearing as a bit of a wildcard entry. He's as new as everyone else to PBP, so let's make like a team and start getting this party formed up! I've seen some backgrounds start coming together of late, but you've all been pretty quiet for the most part. Start posting your questions and challenges you're having so we can get everyone up to speed; staying silent doesn't help anyone. Also, take this opportunity to proofread, refine, and finalize everything in your backgrounds and character sheet. The more we do now, the better we'll all fit into the world when it's time to game.
It's high time I made a discussion thread, since I'm fairly certain everyone's got things in the works. This is the primary thread for out of character chat, rules questions, off-topic talk, and anything that isn't your in-game action or my in-game response as DM.
Quick addendum: I forgot to bring up the subject of traits. Each character gets two traits, either according to their background or as an inspiration for it. Follow the pathfinder rules for selecting, i.e. only one from any one category, race-appropriate, etc. etc. Feel free to ask about traits if you need clarification or find one you think could be tailored to your story. I'm willing to discuss almost anything you think would make sense so we can see if it works.
Holy crap, not one, not two, but THREE half-elementals? The dice gods have a sense of humor; of this I am now absolutely certain.
I'd like to reiterate something for clarity's sake: any secrets about your character should not be party knowledge: if you've created a few via the background, it's best to keep them out of public view. Spoiler them in your alias if you like, so people can at least TRY not to peek, and send them to me a private message so I can keep them all arranged in a safe place.
Check-in time, guys: Some are making progress, some haven't made any at all. I'd like to know how many people are still actively trying to get in on this so I can think ahead here. Draken, Freyr: you'll want to move forward on your character sheets (and do some editing and cleanup on your backgrounds) so things are nice and tidy (and most importantly, complete.) Edric: Dalinton, Aravigon, Thelonius: no progress for several days now. If anyone's having trouble, I say again: speak up. I'm about to set down a deadline once I've got some solid content ironed out, and anyone who's not ready WILL be cut from the final picks. (think I won't run it with 3? huh? HUH?!) Just touch base and let me know where you stand, folks. I don't want to string people along for months with no gameplay, nor do I want to push people who aren't actually interested or can't find the time. Just communicate honestly and everything will work out.
For those who I wrongfully assumed were familiar with it, I've added a link in the campaign tab to the 10-minute background process.
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