NG Female Human (Tooyah) Incanter 3/Expert 1 | HP 5/29 | AC 16 [T 12 FF 14] | CMB +0 | CMD 12 | F: +3 R: +4 W: +8 | Init: +2 | Perception +8, SM +8 | Spell Points 16/day | Active Conditions: none
GM Belicose Poultry wrote:
However, I said that the spy is not a ghost. I didn't say it is not undead. In fact, given what you know, assuming it is undead is a reasonable assumption.
Ah. In that case my idea of a Life-based ritual still stands: summoning positive energy that seeks out and puts the thing to rest/destroys it.
GM Belicose Poultry wrote:
Hehe, that was my thought. Way of the Wicked Nat would be all about it though.
Ha! WotW Nat would be an Asmodean Witness...
"Have you heard the Bad News about our Lord and Slaver?"
Just wanted to say: RIP Ursula LeGuin. I spent a large part of my childhood exploring the archipelago of Earthsea, and her thoughts on what magic actually was were formative.
Church isn't a building/place. It's not a state of mind. It's not a congregation. It's a location AND a state of mind AND a congregation. It's all of that, and more. It's hard to define, so Nat doesn't try.
You know it when you see it.
And she doesn't see it, yet. But she's getting there. A week of finding the right place, facing the dawn, open to the elements but with shelter enough from the wind (even the most devout don't generally consider chilblains to be a blessing). A week of borrowing what she can, scrounging a few possessions, a few chairs, a table here, a cloth there. A week of prayer and fasting. A week of sheer undiluted slog.
She can't remember when she was last this fulfilled (which is not the same as happy. In some ways, it's better).
Finally, satisfied, she rises from her knees and looks around at her helpers; acknowledging with a nod and a smile the work they've put in. Couldn't have done it without you.
As Ayida-Wedu rises, her first beams piercing the gloom of night, Nat raises her hands to begin the service.
And stops. She's not a silver-tongued bishop, or smooth-talking prelate - what does she have to say that's worth the listening? Nat isn't given to much in the way of hesitation: when in doubt, do what is right is the motto she has lived by. But as she looks at the (small) crowd of people gathered there, what is the right thing to say at this time? What is there to be truly thankful for?
How do we worship our gods, in a land that is not our own?
Well, there's only one way to find out.
"You moyt be wondering whoy you're here. Whoy, after all that's happened, all the ill we've suffered, losing our home, should we care about the gods? Do they care about us? And Oy could say summat loyk 'give thanks we've still got our loyves' but that's priest-talk. It doesn't help any."
She pauses, and looks around. Hopefully this is registering. "But let me tell you whoy Oy'm here. Oy'm here to remember. Oy had friends in Cornucopia, friends in moy Tooyah homeland; and they're gone. Oy didn't get to say goodboy, nor bury them even. Oy know we all lost those we care about, and Oy suggest we take some toyme to remember them, and ask the gods to see their souls home safely."
Silence is a powerful tool for reflection. Nat thinks of those she knew and will never see again: Astix the High Priest, though he didn't have a high opinion of me. He defended Cornucopia bravely at the last. Shariss, who helped me with my studies when I got stuck amid all the book-learning. Utzos, the head-man of my village who recognised my calling... On and on, all the friends and neighbours whose names she can recall; and the faces of the ones she can't.
She allows time for people to indicate that they're done; ready to move on. Eventually, she nods, and lifts her hands once more. "May the Father of Waters goyde them to his Source, where all waters run together and the Sun ever shoynes."
Female Human Daredevil Operative (Ace Pilot) 2 I HP 16 I Stamina 14 I Resolve 5 I EAC 15 I KAC 16 I Fort +1 I Ref +7 I Will +3 I Init +5 I Perception +6, Darkvision 12 metrons
Oh, well that's OK then - he may be a creepy undead horror with unfathomable purposes, but at least he's a creepy undead horror with unfathomable purposes and manners...
I feel so much better.
EDIT: yes to grabbing the quick release sheath, btw.
No, no, no. Resorting to poetry is an understandable reaction to the vastness of space, but if we must use metaphor, let it at least be accurate metaphor – and it is vastly inaccurate to refer to space as a ‘frontier.’ For one thing, the term ‘frontier’ implies the existence of a border; and you can’t have a final border because then there’d be nothing for it to be a border to (although I grant you that “Space. The antepenultimate frontier” does not exactly trip off the tongue). For seconds, a ‘frontier’ is a finite region: something perhaps not yet mapped to its fullest extent, but nonetheless mappable, capable of being reduced to manageable proportions.
Space is not like that. It is infinitely vast: even the discovery (gift?) of the Hyperspace Drive merely made travel through space possible, rather than convenient. Set against the vast infinity of space, any number you can write down – any number you can imagine – basically approximates to zero.
That same cold arithmetic has a distorting effect on qualitative values, as well. Take, for example, morality – are the Pact Worlds a force for Good in the universe? Set against the excesses of the Azlanti Star Empire, or the extradimensional forces from the fiendish planes, then the answer is probably yes; but a visitor from the Celestial realms might look askance at the compromises made on a day-to-day basis to ensure continuity (like the inclusion of the planet Eox into the Pact; although the belief that all undead are inevitably Evil is terribly unfashionable, these days). Such a visitor would almost certainly protest the crushing, systemic, injustices which are accepted as part and parcel of civilised modern life. Accepted by most, that is, but not all: if the Free Captains of the Diaspora agree on anything, it is the motto ‘Better to die free on your feet than live on your knees.’ (although the luckless bastard who’s just been spaced out the airlock of his own ship by marauding pirates might have something pithy to say in response to that. If he weren’t, you know, dead.)
In the face of these forces, of this arithmetic, there would seem to be little that an individual can do. But just occasionally, an individual – or a group of individuals – gets to do something extraordinary. Our story concerns just such a group. Of course, they don’t know that yet (which is probably just as well: the call ‘Heroes wanted to save Galaxy. Must be willing to repeatedly risk life, limb, sanity and soul. Minimal prospects of success. Meagre reward.’ tends not to find people wanting – it generally fails to find them at all)...
Female Drow Inquisitor (Monster Tactician) 1 I HP 10/10 I AC 19 [T 12 FF 17] I SR 7 I CMD 14 I F +3 R +2 W+6(8) I Init +4 I Perception +10, Darkvision 120 ft (Light Blindness) I
Inky blot from the Abyss, spreading demonic corruption everywhere...
Female Drow Inquisitor (Monster Tactician) 1 I HP 10/10 I AC 19 [T 12 FF 17] I SR 7 I CMD 14 I F +3 R +2 W+6(8) I Init +4 I Perception +10, Darkvision 120 ft (Light Blindness) I
Late, as usual, sorry everyone.
Sh'assaria is unchanged from last time - she has a good line in summoning things and some combat ability, although she's not a front liner. That's what expendable minions trusted family servants are for...
With the benefit of hindsight, it can be seen that the restoration of Dashil's cloak was too much, too soon. The meeting over, she stalks out without a word to her companions. Her golden cloak leaves a trail of light in her wake as she heads for the tavern and spends the rest of the day drinking, trying to blot out the intrusive memories and emotions that Aduard triggered (with the best of intentions). Shame, grief, and guilt; and the greatest of these is guilt.
On her return to the house, the cloak is hastily rolled up and stuffed in the bottom of her backpack. She spends the rest of her month in the village actively avoiding company - her darkvision means that it's easy for her to adopt antisocial hours. It does nothing for her reputation within the village, but this fact only serves as a further reminder of past times.
She does not attend Brogol's funeral. Instead, with the others away, she walks into the bathroom and bares her arm, knife in hand. It is some time before she decides what to carve. Not his name: names get lost in time and she never used his much, anyway. Her fallen companions are etched into her body with symbols, scars which commemorate deeds, passions, nicknames...
She has it. The first incision cuts to the bone, a downward stroke which curves off to the left. Her breath hisses between her clenched teeth, and her knuckles whiten, but she's not done. Four more diagonal strokes follow, swift slashes into her icy flesh; blood runs from her forearm in rivulets, pooling in the bath. Her eyesight dims and the world around her starts to fade, but she isn't finished; she retains consciousness through sheer effort of will. The final three cuts are brutally simple: two vertical incisions joined by a horizontal slash.
Cursing, blaspheming with agony and anguish, Dashil releases her magic: the wounds close over instantly, the blood stops flowing, scar tissue forms in the shape of three letters: J.M.H As she looks at her handiwork, a face swims into Dashil's memory: frightened but determined, marked for death but not flinching from it, a junior monster hunter who understood that what they faced was worth dying to defeat...
"Dammit, kid! Why did you have to die on my watch...?!"
It has not happened for a long time, and indeed she had wondered if she had somehow lost the ability altogether. But it seems not. Here, in this room, in this place, at this time, Dashil is crying.
NG Female Human (Tooyah) Incanter 3/Expert 1 | HP 5/29 | AC 16 [T 12 FF 14] | CMB +0 | CMD 12 | F: +3 R: +4 W: +8 | Init: +2 | Perception +8, SM +8 | Spell Points 16/day | Active Conditions: none
I, too, have lost the plot slightly - who are we waiting on?
Also, I think we're fighting because it's difficult to have an orderly retreat from someone who can walk through walls/floors; and because I suspect Istiel will protest strongly* at the prospect of running from yet another fight...
(*By 'protest strongly' I am of course using a euphemism for ultra-violence of the most bonebreaking kind, rather than, say, referring to to a sharply-worded memo**)
(**Although I'm quite prepared to believe that Istiel could inflict CONSIDERABLE damage with a suitably sharp memo.)
Female Human Sphere-cleric 2 | HP 18/18 I AC 18 | T 11 | FF 17 I CMB +3 I CMD 14 I Fort +4 | Ref +2 | Will +8 I Init +5 I Percep +3 I Spell pts 6/day I Channel energy 5/day |
Djebelle stands still for a moment as she absorbs the news. "Then we have to go there - quickly! Lieutenant - you can look after the injured here, can't you, without our help? I think they're through the worst of it, but make sure they get rest and don't let them do anything silly like try to come with us."
Female Human Daredevil Operative (Ace Pilot) 2 I HP 16 I Stamina 14 I Resolve 5 I EAC 15 I KAC 16 I Fort +1 I Ref +7 I Will +3 I Init +5 I Perception +6, Darkvision 12 metrons
Prospero-4 wrote:
"She did not know Duravol Kreel, while he lived. Why does Astrianna claim these things of him?" Prospero-4 whispers in Fianh ear.
Fi shakes her head wearily. "Ask her. Not now though." She listens as the halfling falls for Astri's tall tales, with a mixture of admiration and annoyance. How can anyone be so dishonest? She herself has secrets, and there are many times where she has not told the full truth, but Astrianna appears to lie as naturally as she breathes.
She makes a mental note not to fall for the act again.
Astrianna Sparacello wrote:
"Damn it... this eyeliner was supposed to be waterproof!"
Astrianna takes her thumb and starts rubbing out the rest of her makeup as they walk- why bother redoing it at this point? "Was that useful enough for you, Fi?" she shoots the comment at the Tian without looking over.
Fianh shoots imaginary laser beams from her eyes, boring into the half-elf's back, not trusting herself to speak. It's not good to carry around so much anger; especially at a team-mate she may have to rely on in future. Breathing in deeply, she pictures herself back at her homeworld; she's on a mountain, breathing in the rarefied air; she's sitting next to a stream of fast-running, icy water; she's drowning Astri in the stream, holding her head under the water in beautiful, perfect silence... She breathes out. It's a mental exercise - or, in truth, a variation on a mental exercise - that she learned some time ago.
Female Tiefling/Human (Varisian) URogue (Knife Master) 2 | AC 18 (20) [T 14(16) FF 14] | HP 21/21 | Fort +2 | Ref +7 | Will -1(0) | Init +4 | Percep +4, Darkvision 60 ft | Active conditions: None
Katyeva lingers at the bridge, watching it burn. Smoke streaks mark her face, smoke stings her eyes, but she ignores it. Beyond the bridge, the town of Phaendar burns; above the roar of flame and crash of falling timbers, she can hear the screams. Screams echo in her memory too, distant but not forgotten: the screams of her family dying, slaughtered by hobs while she hid beneath the wagon, too terrified to make a sound. The caravan wasn't much, but it had been her home. Phaendar hadn't been much, but it had been her home too - or as close to one as she had needed.
Some things you only miss once you no longer have them. Her eyes sting; not all of it is from the smoke.
She shakes her head angrily, to clear it, turning away and catching up with the others. Once in the cover of the trees, she looks at the motley crowd of refugees. Sheesh. She can't be stuck with this lot. Time to make a hasty exit, bundle out of there and get to... where, exactly?
I thought you were better than that, Kat.
Gods.Damn.It.
Katyeva looks again at the crowd of people: Otho, Doc, the half-elf siblings, Kining, Aubrin... others that she knows. She sighs.
"OK, I know this isn't how we planned to spend our evening; but we're Nirmathi... or at least most of you are; we can handle this. Let's get undercover quick, and everyone make sure that they and their neighbours are unhurt. Doc here can deal with serious injuries - everything else is gonna have to wait for a while, OK? Now let's get moving."
1 spell point to summon
1 spell point to remain for 3 minutes without using concentration
4 spell points used, 12 remaining
Still in silence, Nat prays again. Maybe it's the silence and stillness of her spellcasting; perhaps it's that Ayida-Wedu's light is stronger than any shadow. Either way, the clinging, snaring dark fails to prevent Nat's prayer from taking effect.
Slowly at first, but with increasing brightness, the great form of the Father of Coywolves coalesces out of the dark.
Mechanics:
Takes up a 3x3 square space, so there's a limited number of places on the map he can go. He has 15 ft reach, if it matters.
NG Female Human (Tooyah) Incanter 3/Expert 1 | HP 5/29 | AC 16 [T 12 FF 14] | CMB +0 | CMD 12 | F: +3 R: +4 W: +8 | Init: +2 | Perception +8, SM +8 | Spell Points 16/day | Active Conditions: none
Oh, Istiel...
And I think you will find that Great Chaquapetl, Father of Coywolves, and Herald of Ayida-Wedu has more important things to do than simply act as some sort of seeing-eye dog.
It's not the first time that Dashil has returned from battle having lost a companion; and it likely will not be the last. It doesn't make it any easier, but it does mean she knows how to do it. You just push everything else to the back of your mind and focus on things that need to be done.
Stone-faced, she knocks on the door of the Lorrimor house; without meeting Kendra's eyes she explains in as few words as possible what happened, her flinty stare repelling any attempts at kindness or sympathy - neither are what she needs right now. She'll apologise later (story of her life). Right now she needs to hold it together, and that means edges and sharpness to repel any well-meaning acts of kindness and warmth.
But disconcerting acts of kindness can come from the most unexpected of quarters. She whirls round as Aduard touches her cloak - "What are you do-" her breath catches as the long-lost emblem slowly takes shape in gold thread, like a flame spreading across paper; she falls silent, lost for words, as her cloak, long-tattered, bedraggled, bleared with grime, seared with failure and regret and acts that cannot be undone, shines like new, gleaming in the light of day as when she first put it on...
She glowers at him. If he'd been a necromancer, she could forgive it. This? Not so much.
He's right though, damn him. They need every edge they can get.
Dashil isn't much of one for words, so she lets the wizard do the talking. She does a good line in ominous stares and grim silences, though; and Councillor Heartmount gets one of her finest glares, pinning his fat, lazy, pampered backside to his seat - and warning of worse if he so much as thinks of causing trouble.
Intimidate:1d20 + 11 ⇒ (16) + 11 = 27
I've just lost a good friend and I blame myself. You want to cause trouble? Go ahead, lunk: Make. My. Day.
NG Female Human (Tooyah) Incanter 3/Expert 1 | HP 5/29 | AC 16 [T 12 FF 14] | CMB +0 | CMD 12 | F: +3 R: +4 W: +8 | Init: +2 | Perception +8, SM +8 | Spell Points 16/day | Active Conditions: none
Nat answers the question the only way she knows how: with absolute honesty. "Oy'm a good midwoyfe: most of the toyme, things go well. But sometoymes, they don't: sometoymes you lose one, sometoymes Oy lose both. And sometoymes, very very occasionally, Oy can act to save one - but knowing that if'n Oy do, Oy'll lose the other. And when you're up to your elbows in blood, having troyed everything you know, when the moment comes to choose, there's never toyme - not to think, not to foynd someone else to make the choice, not to catch a breath; Oy just have to do. And Oy never get told if'n Oy chose well or ill, if'n Oy should have left alone or done summat else besoydes: Oy just have to do, and choose, and get up the next day, and the next, from can to can't..."
She trails off to catch her breath, unused to talking this much.
"Because loyfe isn't neat. It isn't toydy. Sometoymes, if you're very lucky, you're given a clear choice between good and ill." She thinks briefly of Ashkesh, and the moral - if not emotional - clarity in rejecting him and all he stands for. "But most of the toyme, all you're faced with is a series of bad choices, or between bad an' worse... And you're asking the wrong question. It's not 'whoy' - it's never 'whoy.' It's 'what.' What am Oy going to do, in this moment, with the toyme that has been given to me? That's the only question that matters. And Oy've only found one answer to that question."
Female Human Daredevil Operative (Ace Pilot) 2 I HP 16 I Stamina 14 I Resolve 5 I EAC 15 I KAC 16 I Fort +1 I Ref +7 I Will +3 I Init +5 I Perception +6, Darkvision 12 metrons
"Ba de mei! Stupid dwarven locks..." Fi is out of practice, but luckily they have some time in hand and eventually she gets it to click open. "Finally." She gives Astrianna a sidelong look and a quick smile, as her fellow conspirator in lock-picking: "There was this one time, on Castrovel-" she suddenly remembers that she's not just talking to the half-elf, but to her video recorder "-when absolutely nothing happened."
Leaving Astrianna to sort through whatever is in the now-open backpack (and presumably steal his socks) she wanders over to where Leila is trying to bypass the computer's security.
Computers, aid another:1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10
Oof. Dicebot is NOT liking us right now. Still, just made it.
"Oh, is that an old-model Lightwave? If you put a pin in the reset port, it should default to the factory-set password - but all the data is just shunted to the backup drive rather than being deleted. Makes it harder to retrieve, but it's still there."
NG Female Human (Tooyah) Incanter 3/Expert 1 | HP 5/29 | AC 16 [T 12 FF 14] | CMB +0 | CMD 12 | F: +3 R: +4 W: +8 | Init: +2 | Perception +8, SM +8 | Spell Points 16/day | Active Conditions: none
The essentials of fishing are calm and stillness; Nat has been through a lot in the last few weeks, but even the little sleep she's had is enough to restore the ground of her being.
Istiel's words don't cause so much as a ripple in the countenance of her calm as she patiently observes in reply: "Loyfe is a series of Midwoyfe's choices. Here, Oy choose bargaining with someone Oy'd prefer not to, in hope of saving loyves; and Oy'll gladly stand before Ayida-Wedu and say that Oy troyed peace over conflict, every day of the week and twoyce on Sundays."
Nevertheless, she gives Oios and Imix a meaningful look: she is disquieted by this stranger for reasons she can't entirely identify. It may yet come to a fight.
To Yd, she replies: "The Nargun are not yours; they belong to themselves. You ask for recompense - whoy should we not troy and free them instead?"
Female Human Sphere-cleric 2 | HP 18/18 I AC 18 | T 11 | FF 17 I CMB +3 I CMD 14 I Fort +4 | Ref +2 | Will +8 I Init +5 I Percep +3 I Spell pts 6/day I Channel energy 5/day |
DM Aku wrote:
What the charters must decide now is how they’ll repair the broken trust from the locals, or if that’s even something they should care about.
OUCH
OK, change of plans. I vote we go after the bandits.
Don't want to go through this again.
EDIT: just spotted this
Tegan Ryker wrote:
What do the stars mean on the Green Belt map?
The stars show where we've explored; the crown shows where we currently are.
HP 53/53 | AC 20 (22 w/C.E.) [T 15 FF 15] | CMB +7 | CMD 22 | Fort +7 Ref +7 Will +3 | Init +5 | Percep +0 | Stamina 7/7 | Active conditions: None Kingdom Spreadsheet | Turn Summary
Only dwarves truly understand irony. Ask them, and they'll tell you: it means 'sort of like iron.'
Vosil nods. "'Tis Draconic, the language of dragonkind; although judging by its accent, it has never actually heard it spoken by one of the Ancient Ones." Nor has Vosil, but that's not going to prevent him indulging in a little editorialising (alas, nothing does).
"It asked us what we want. Which is actually a jolly good question."
HP 53/53 | AC 20 (22 w/C.E.) [T 15 FF 15] | CMB +7 | CMD 22 | Fort +7 Ref +7 Will +3 | Init +5 | Percep +0 | Stamina 7/7 | Active conditions: None Kingdom Spreadsheet | Turn Summary
Vosil looks up from the book that he has been reading through to refresh his memory. "Well, I have good news and not-so-good news. My sources tend to agree that lizardfolk are civilised; but there's some debate as to exactly how civilised. They tend not to be too picky about where their meat comes from, shall we say. But if we avoid looking too much like potential prey, we may be able to parley with them."
A smile. "Alternatively, we could smear Gav with ketchup and present him as a peace-offering. He is our chief Diplomat, after all; and he already has some valuable experience of being devoured."
Female Human Sphere-cleric 2 | HP 18/18 I AC 18 | T 11 | FF 17 I CMB +3 I CMD 14 I Fort +4 | Ref +2 | Will +8 I Init +5 I Percep +3 I Spell pts 6/day I Channel energy 5/day |
Rendyl Millary wrote:
He would rather she yell at him than give him that understanding, knowing look.
Heh. Guilt is one of the primary weapons in Good's arsenal :-)
Female Human Daredevil Operative (Ace Pilot) 2 I HP 16 I Stamina 14 I Resolve 5 I EAC 15 I KAC 16 I Fort +1 I Ref +7 I Will +3 I Init +5 I Perception +6, Darkvision 12 metrons
"Wo da shi me ren zhou fa lai!" Fi offers a guttural curse in her native Tian as the ship's controls don't respond as speedily as they ought to, allowing the attacking ship to get the advantage.
Her cursing rapidly subsides when the other side replies to the half-elf's taunts. Interesting... Without taking her eyes off the screens in front of her, she addresses the would-be ransom victim.
"Well, Sparacello-san, you may be wondering whether you can trust us, a bunch of people you barely even know. I can't speak for the others, of course, but personally I have a code - I don't take advantage of those who can't defend themselves. Plus, we're witnesses, so there's no incentive for them to let us live even if we did hand you over."
She grins, manically. "Anyway, I don't intend to stop the fight now - I'm having way too much fun! But you should apologize to the ship, you must have noticed that the moment you insulted it is the moment they got the advantage." There's nothing in her tone to suggest that this is a joke: she really means it.
OK... Gonna need the +1 from our computer this round to hit the DC
Another grin as the computer chimes in, confirming that she has plotted the correct course. "Not enough of an advantage to escape me, though - hold on!" At her urging, the Okimoro spins on a proton, diving straight at the enemy ship.
"BANZAI!!!!!!"
She pulls away at the absolute last microsecond, laughing with glee as she does so. It's been an age since she felt this alive. "Prospero-4-san, fire! FIRE!"
That Tian accent? The one that was thicker than halfling meatloaf?
No please... Not the kid, not the kid, not on my watch! NOT! ON! MY! WATCH!
Dashil shelves such unhelpful thoughts, catching herself before she disintegrates completely, drawing on a lifetime's experience of surviving, of not dying.
She pulls Esta to her feet, as gently as she can. "I'm sorry, but he's gone. You don't know how sorry I am to say that. We have to get out of here."
It's cold, it's heartless and she hates herself for saying it. So, just another day in Ustalav.
With a grunt, she bends down, picking up the lifeless body of the late junior monster hunter. It's heavy, but not nearly as heavy as his weight on her conscience. He had no business being here... You shouldn't have encouraged him... He didn't have your viciousness, or Radag's orneriness, or Aduard's powers... You SAW this coming and you did NOTHING... YOU killed him...
She bites her lip till blood runs freely down her chin; she doesn't notice. "Come on, people, MOVE! If I know anything about haunts, this place is about to collapse on us!"
Female Human Daredevil Operative (Ace Pilot) 2 I HP 16 I Stamina 14 I Resolve 5 I EAC 15 I KAC 16 I Fort +1 I Ref +7 I Will +3 I Init +5 I Perception +6, Darkvision 12 metrons
Astrianna Sparacello wrote:
The door to the room opens once more, but this time the half-elf walks in. "Welllllll, looks like we'll be rooming together. What a dump, huh? I would have just strapped a Drift engine to a trash can and rode it into the Sun if I had known THIS was going to be my ride." The half-elf chuckles at her own joke, but quickly stops when the other two don't even crack a smile.
Fi shrugs. "Is OK. Modified Standard Shuttle with Fastersky Corp S10 thrusters; personally, prefer bit faster, like Sukohama S-12, or Tortoyuba T-14 in smaller ship: sacrifice lateral stability for more go-forward-power. Shields upgraded from basic model; generator hidden, but would guess Abadarcorp - fast regeneration and good cover. Not seen computer yet, but seem to work well."
She looks at the half-elf, in her blazoned crop-top (Fi understands both Elven and Lashunta, but isn't ready to let that on yet): "What your preferred choice of starship?" She wonders why she's bothering. Anyone who doesn't understand that a Drift engine isn't required in order to get where they're going isn't worth the effort of proper conversation. On the other hand, she's reaaaaally bored.
Astrianna Sparacello wrote:
"I'm Astrianna, by the way.... Astrianna Sparacello... I go by Songbird... on the infosphere..." With every pause she tries to see some kid of recognition in their faces, but they clearly don't spend any time on the infosphere. "Ever had Sparacello wines...? My family makes them. Maybe...? No...? Okay."
Fianh bows. "Please to meet you, Astrianna. Am Fianh. Family name Jin. Please to call me 'Fi' - Tian names tricky for Outlanders, it appear." Her face brightens at the mention of wines: "Ah, yes. Castrovellian wine much appreciated back at homeworld." No need to tell this woman that Fi has spent a lot of time in and around Castrovel (hence her facility with its languages): its exports are good quality, but the customs charges are exorbitant (hence the need for a good smuggler). She shakes her head: "So sorry, Sparacello not familiar name." If you're going to smuggle, you only go for the biggest, most valuable names.
GM Stargin wrote:
Kerpask turns to Fianh with some irritation as she crowds into the shuttle's control area. A standard shuttle can accommodate a crew of up to four people and this one is no different so there's enough space for her. This is just not what Passengers should be doing.
Go back to your bunks please. Random hostile activity is not unheard of but also not a concern, I will just lead it the closest Pact Steward security waystation. Do not be worried.
Fi looks at the insectoid in disbelief, her cheeks flushing pink with emotion. "You haven't even disengaged the lateral dampers!" All traces of her trivid Tian accent have disappeared. "A 'random hostile' and you aren't conducting evasive maneuvers?!" A horrible thought strikes her. "Please, in the name of the Twelve Gods, tell me you have some flight combat experience."
She has a terrible foreboding that the word 'simulator' is about to come up.
Please, Oni-ma, don't let me die in a ship piloted by someone else... the shame of it.
Female Human Sphere-cleric 2 | HP 18/18 I AC 18 | T 11 | FF 17 I CMB +3 I CMD 14 I Fort +4 | Ref +2 | Will +8 I Init +5 I Percep +3 I Spell pts 6/day I Channel energy 5/day |
DM Aku wrote:
I think it’s time we move on. We’ve prolonged this RP part for too long.
AWESOME RP, though! Having a blast, great stuff everyone :D
DM Aku wrote:
Oh, I forgot to mention. Don't worry about the fort saves.
Riiiiiiiight. Anyone else get cold chills at that?
Having never been drunk before, Djebelle is utterly unprepared for how awful she feels the next morning. At first she wonders if she's caught whatever it was that killed Kressle, but after some minutes it's clear that she is - unfortunately - going to live.
She cuts a subdued figure at breakfast, hollow eyed and silent, shuddering whenever the noise level gets too high. She meekly nods in agreement with whatever the plan is. Hopefully it doesn't involve noise. Or haste. Or sunlight.
Female Human Daredevil Operative (Ace Pilot) 2 I HP 16 I Stamina 14 I Resolve 5 I EAC 15 I KAC 16 I Fort +1 I Ref +7 I Will +3 I Init +5 I Perception +6, Darkvision 12 metrons
It's not a fair advantage: watching someone with four hands is exponentially more difficult than watching only two. Fianh devotes her attention to Gorsen, calmly ignoring the glare she receives from the dancer: for one thing, unless the girl has some hidden compartment under her skin, it's very obvious she's unarmed; for another, Fianh would happily eat a bullet from her Mitsuyoba heavy pistol before accepting Gorsen's offer.
She gives him a very slight bow, and does her best to edge back from him. "So sorry, Tian names not easy for kawaruhito." (Changed ones; aliens.) "Please to call me Fi." Fi can, if she chooses, speak Basic perfectly (although it's a poor substitute for her native Tian - it lacks inflections and all but the most primitive of status-indicators) but for now at least, she has adopted an accent and way of speaking that is almost a caricature from those trivid action-flicks. Whatever it takes to make someone underestimate you, be willing to do it. Damn. Her memories of homeworld may be fading, but Nikki's voice echoes in her mind like it was only this morning that they last spoke.
Her eyes regard the Kasatha warily: most fixers at the lower ends of the spectrum end up dead pretty quickly, unless they sell out to become some crime-lord's lackey; and Gorsen hasn't sold out, so far as she knows. He likes his independence too much. Which, shudderingly, gives her more in common with him than she cares to admit.
She pushes all those thoughts to the back of her mind and stares at Gorsen: "You have package for me, yes/no?"
The sooner she's done with this, the sooner she can be back where she belongs: in the pilot seat, pitting her wits and skill against the flotsam and jetsam of the Diaspora as she flings Gorsen's rust-bucket of a junk ship across the heavens.
Female Human Sphere-cleric 2 | HP 18/18 I AC 18 | T 11 | FF 17 I CMB +3 I CMD 14 I Fort +4 | Ref +2 | Will +8 I Init +5 I Percep +3 I Spell pts 6/day I Channel energy 5/day |
DM Aku wrote:
The dwarf on the other hand, eats loudly and is not shy about expressing himself. ”Pretty good stuff.” he burps loudly and laughs louder yet. ”Needs only some real dwarf beer and would be a feast!” he turns then to Rendyl ”Dinnae ye say yer group killed bandits? How it feels lad? Ta promote the king’s justice with yer own hands?"
Djebelle breaks into a cold sweat at overhearing the dwarf's comments, and hastily gulps down her tankard of ale, before refilling it. It's bitter, but she hopes that the drink will take the edge off her dreams: she has been haunted by the three kills she has made: two with blade, up close, and one with the sling...
...and worst of all are the nightmares when she re-lives the explosion, when she stands up, horribly burned, and prays for healing - and nothing happens...
She shudders and downs another tankard of ale, but she can't blot out the conversation. She gets up, hastily. "'Scuse me, I need to, uh... need to - just remembered..." Mumbling vague excuses, she stumbles away from the table.
Female Human Sphere-cleric 2 | HP 18/18 I AC 18 | T 11 | FF 17 I CMB +3 I CMD 14 I Fort +4 | Ref +2 | Will +8 I Init +5 I Percep +3 I Spell pts 6/day I Channel energy 5/day |
Slightly nonplussed by the Lieutenant's noncommittal attitude (not to herself, she's not bothered by that, but he is the first man she's met so far - companions included - who hasn't been distracted by Tegan's looks), Djebelle nods politely to him and takes her leave - only to stop dead just inside the gateway as she gawks at Tegan and someone who can only be her sister: "Two of them?!"
She looks disbelievingly at the others.
"There's two of them. TWO of them. Two of THEM." However she phrases it, it doesn't sound any better.
Aware that she's gabbling, she blushes slightly and leads her horse to the stables. "Come on, Night. It's been a long few days. Let's get you back under a roof."
HP 53/53 | AC 20 (22 w/C.E.) [T 15 FF 15] | CMB +7 | CMD 22 | Fort +7 Ref +7 Will +3 | Init +5 | Percep +0 | Stamina 7/7 | Active conditions: None Kingdom Spreadsheet | Turn Summary
After a day or so of trudging through the snow, Vosil stares in bemusement at the hot, bubbling mud and the noxious steam rising from it.
Old Guy GM wrote:
"South of here, there is a bubbling hole of mud. Filled with noxious gas and fungus, the mudhole is home to a certain type of mushroom - the black rattlecap. I will tell you what I know of the surrounding area, if you promise to bring me a bushel or two of those mushrooms."
"This would seem to be the area the Old Beldame spoke of - she said there are black rattlecaps to be found. I wonder what else can be found here..."
OK... I'm not complaining about all these natural 20's, you understand, but it would be nice, it would be really, really NICE, if just once they actually occurred when I NEEDED them!
Female Human Sphere-cleric 2 | HP 18/18 I AC 18 | T 11 | FF 17 I CMB +3 I CMD 14 I Fort +4 | Ref +2 | Will +8 I Init +5 I Percep +3 I Spell pts 6/day I Channel energy 5/day |
Reflex save:1d20 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
PAIN
Djebelle just has time to close her eyes as the fireball engulfs her; when she wakes seconds later, her world is... blue?
The sky. You're looking up at the sky.
It's another long second before the next thought arrives.
That means you're lying down. You need to stand up.
The thought is exhausting; she moans in pain. Or she thinks she does - she can't hear anything beyond the ringing in her head. She puts a hand to her ear; it comes away sticky with bright blood. Her fingers look like they've been barbecued.
Up, get up, now! The voice is insistent, and Djebelle scrambles to her knees, before stumbling upright, swaying, barely conscious.
She wishes she hadn't. A cry of pain bursts from her scorched lungs and throat, and she clutches with a charred hand at her holy symbol.
The Goddess hears her: bright, cool light erupts in a burst of healing energy.
Channel energy:1d6 ⇒ 6
From blistering agony, it now feels simply like she has stood too close to the fire.
She shakes her head, to clear it, and looks to her companions - I'm OK - and then at the bandits who have revealed themselves. Her scimitar flashes in the sun's light as she brandishes it defiantly, a warning.
"You should be glad I survived that: it means that you might, too, if you surrender now."
Nothing about her voice suggests that she's joking.
Move action: stand
Standard action: Channel energy (4 uses remaining today)
HP 53/53 | AC 20 (22 w/C.E.) [T 15 FF 15] | CMB +7 | CMD 22 | Fort +7 Ref +7 Will +3 | Init +5 | Percep +0 | Stamina 7/7 | Active conditions: None Kingdom Spreadsheet | Turn Summary
Edric 'Godly' wrote:
Would anyone object if Edric took the dragonhide stuff?
No objections - Vosil is limited to light armour and can't use shields.
Edric 'Godly' wrote:
but it skews the wealth curve towards him again so if people want balance I don't have to have it. :)
Clearly, Edric is on some sort of sub-prime/deficit-spending binge; we can only wait and watch in wonder to see whether it all catches up with him eventually :)
HP 53/53 | AC 20 (22 w/C.E.) [T 15 FF 15] | CMB +7 | CMD 22 | Fort +7 Ref +7 Will +3 | Init +5 | Percep +0 | Stamina 7/7 | Active conditions: None Kingdom Spreadsheet | Turn Summary
Vosil frowns slightly as he looks at Talia limping to her horse, saying nothing. He is acutely aware of just how much of their endeavours rest on the life of this red-haired wench (young woman, he mentally corrects himself: she is, after all, soon to be married): if Dregan, or Gav, or Edric, or he himself, should fall, they would (he hopes) be mourned, but they can be replaced (he gives a wry smile: in his own case, Jubal would do at least as good a job).
Talia alone is utterly irreplaceable, and part of her charm is that she (mostly) fails to act like it; but the future of their tiny, preposterously improbable realm flutters with the pulse at her throat.
Enough of such thoughts; after all, there's nothing to be done about it (although he makes a mental note to double the watch set on her once they return to Concord). He forces a smile and turns towards Edric: "Deception's Downfall it is. Now, shall we away? Dregan was cooking something rather good, if memory serves."
An army marches on its stomach; and no veteran passes up the chance of food, whatever the circumstances.
Female Human Sphere-cleric 2 | HP 18/18 I AC 18 | T 11 | FF 17 I CMB +3 I CMD 14 I Fort +4 | Ref +2 | Will +8 I Init +5 I Percep +3 I Spell pts 6/day I Channel energy 5/day |
DM Aku wrote:
The horse moves towards the party looking disapprovingly at the cleric, as if to remind the young woman of what she promised the previous evening. She did not visit to make sure everything was okay, nor she brought the promised food, but even so, the white steed seems happy to see the young woman again.
Djebelle puts a hand to her mouth in dismay as she remembers the promise she made: "Oh! I'm sorry - I'm not used to, you know... you being around. Tell you what. Once I'm done here, we'll go and see if Svetlana has any apples and then go for a ride, OK?"
She listens to the prisoner, trying to keep an impassive expression, but it is difficult. After all, where would she have ended up, when her mother threw her out, if her uncle had not taken her in? Isn't it possible that she, too, might have joined a band of outcasts if her life had gone in only a very slightly different direction? Who, ultimately, is she to judge?
She looks at the others to try and see what they are thinking. "OK, Vicar. Here's the thing. The charter puts us as the law here, to punish bandits. Unrepentant banditry gets the sword or the rope. You... I'm not sure about. So I suggest we give you a chance. You will work here, as an unpaid labourer for Oleg and Svetlana, and if you behave yourself then we'll see where it takes us. I'm sure they can find use for an assistant to keep this place going, do it up."
She looks directly at Vicar. "This is your second chance at making a life. You won't get a third. Make the most of it."
"Right. Come on, Night. Let's go find some apples."
Once they've done that, she saddles the horse up and spends an hour or so riding around the exterior of the fort, trying to get the hang of it. She'll never be an equestrian, but it is a lot faster than being on foot.
After she's done, she rubs Night down and returns to join the others. "OK. So, do we try and chase down Vik's horse; or go for the bandit camp that Vicar mentioned? It seems to me like everything else can wait except for that - if we don't take the fight to the bandits, they'll come to us. And I'd hate to see any more harm come to Oleg or Svetlana."
Female Human Sphere-cleric 2 | HP 18/18 I AC 18 | T 11 | FF 17 I CMB +3 I CMD 14 I Fort +4 | Ref +2 | Will +8 I Init +5 I Percep +3 I Spell pts 6/day I Channel energy 5/day |
DM Aku wrote:
@All
Guys let’s take this opportunity to make any last minute changes to your character before we truly begin the game.
Of course, you shouldn’t do anything drastic such as changing race/class, but feel free to reselect feats, reallocate ability points, change your sphere/magical talents, or pick different skills.
OK, thanks for the offer. I'm thinking of changing Djebelle to a cleric of Asmodeus, charged with bringing the iron discipline of Hell to the wild and lawless Stolen Lands swapping out my Extra Spell Points feat for something else.
On a related note, has anyone taken any Divination sphere talents?
