Daverin Darkshoals's page

Thanks, Scott!

Jacob W. Michaels
Daverin Darkshoals
83959-6
Sovereign Court
Day job - Profession (sailor): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

OK, I'm back and don't expect any more interruptions to my posting until mid-October.

"It was our duty to help, my lady, no more and no less. We're glad we were able to be of service," Daverin says.

It sounds like Zinlo was the main problem here, so I'm not sure what else we would need to ask her...

Daverin grinds his teeth as his companions decline to give pursuit. Shaking his head, he races after the men, slashing at the air to speed them on their way.

Longsword: 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 3 + 1 = 12
Damage (+1 when flanking): 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 3 + 1 = 8

Didn't want to let them go, but won't pursue beyond this round. Dice roller just isn't that interested in helping me out, as usual.

Daverin steps up and stabs at the retreating villain, realizing this is his last chance before he has to make a run for the tent to try to save its contents.

Longsword: 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 3 + 1 = 20
Damage (+1 when flanking): 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 3 + 1 = 5

My posting may be a bit spotty through the rest of August -- just have a crazy schedule. That said, I'm still hoping/expecting I'll have time to update daily/as needed.

"I don't think so!" Daverin exclaims, running forward and lunging wildly at the man with the flask.

Hold action until the others have gone. Then I'm going to move around the guard, to the new location on the map, which won't provoke an AoO. I try to tackle the guard in the back; that would provoke an AoO but he just sheathed his sword, so possibly not...
Grapple: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11
And once again, I'm foiled by the dice roller.

I sure hope that's true strike, otherwise we could be in trouble with that attack modifier! :)

Daverin closes on the brigand, noting the slight way he's favoring his left. His feint fails badly, though, and the man easily gets his blade up in time to block the former sailor's thrust.

Longsword: 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 3 + 1 = 5
Damage (+1 when flanking): 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 3 + 1 = 8
Bah.

Daverin moves forward, into a guard position in front of Cornelius as he eyes the approaching bandit move action to study the foe at the top left.

Daverin rushes into the camp, ready to support his companions now that the underhanded work has been done.

Daverin waits outside the camp, not willing to sink so low as to sneak around and fight unfairly. He tenses, ready to rush in when needed.

Daverin shrugs at the ungentlemanliness of the dwarf's plan, though he has to admit (privately!) that it would be easier. Still, not at all what a gentleman would do.

"If we must do that, I shall leave it to you," he says. "I'll be ready when these thieves emerge."

"Very well. We won't use the flats of our blades this time," Daverin says. "Master Luxjed, I assume you would be able to follow their tracks?"

Ready to go, especially since it looks like Hol'Tos is tracking. Are we still fatigued?

Daverin nods, suppressing a sigh as he's ordered back into the desert.

"I assume the guards have been returned home? We merely need to start from where these scouts saw the interlopers, as Lady Ziralia says," he replies to Master Luxjed.

"Hopefully we can guarantee the true elixir's safety from these brigands. I'd rather face enemies that are truly against us, at any rate, than skulk around as we have been in a none-too-gentlemanly fashion."

Have we had a chance to rest/recover from the fatigue?

"Master Luxjed is right. It's time to leave," Daverin says, blotting the sweat from his head.

As the others gather himself, he gives one last quick look around to see if there's anything they may have missed.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 - 2 ⇒ (12) + 6 - 2 = 16

"Be so kind as to just grab it and go, Master Swiftarrow," Daverin grunts as his sword slams into the altar.

Longsword: 1d20 + 3 + 1 - 1 ⇒ (20) + 3 + 1 - 1 = 23
Damage (+1 when flanking): 1d8 + 3 + 1 - 1 ⇒ (1) + 3 + 1 - 1 = 4

Crit?: 1d20 + 3 + 1 - 1 ⇒ (3) + 3 + 1 - 1 = 6
Damage (+1 when flanking): 1d8 + 3 + 1 - 1 ⇒ (3) + 3 + 1 - 1 = 6

Daverin steps up and swings at the altar, fatigue from the heat still taking its toll and causing him to lose his form.

Longsword: 1d20 + 3 + 1 - 2 ⇒ (9) + 3 + 1 - 2 = 11
Damage (+1 when flanking): 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 3 + 1 = 11

Daverin moves into the room and takes up a defensive stance, hoping he can keep the thing occupied despite the brutal heat.

Total defense (+4 to his AC, which is reflected in the spoiler).

Fortitude: 1d20 + 3 - 4 ⇒ (2) + 3 - 4 = 1

Daverin immediately begins sweating in the oppressive heat, though he steadfastly refuses to loosen his necktie or any other clothing.

"It's like a Qadiran summer in here," he says, putting a hand to his temple, and no sea breeze to cut the heat."

He pulls out a kerchief and begins blotting away the sweat as he looks around.

"I don't have any illusions, but if you need us to distract that thing, then that's what we'll do," he says, studying the altar. I assume I can treat it at an opponent and study it now?

"When you're ready, gentlemen?" he finishes, pulling out his blade. "Remember, this thing likely won't be pulling its punches."

Daverin nods, helping Tsadoc as he makes sure the guards don't suffer.

"Well thought of," he says, before joining the others in the transport.

He looks around, clearly still uncomfortable at what happened outside.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

Dog's going to be confused. Why are you telling him to heal when you already stabilized the guy, Curaigh? ;p

Wincing as the lights seem to make the pain in his head worse, Daverin slides forward, again trying to put the mage down.

He knows he's in dire straits with the dog nipping at his heel and another guard too, but duty is duty, and it would take a lesser man than him to shirk these responsibilities.

Longsword (non-lethal): 1d20 + 3 + 1 - 4 ⇒ (16) + 3 + 1 - 4 = 16
Damage (+1 when flanking): 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 3 + 1 = 9

Sorry. Craziness must subside at some point, right?

"Sorry, friend, no hard feelings," Daverin says, slamming the hilt of his blade into the mage's head.

Move to target (I'm guessing that's the one in the red robe, so that's where I moved my icon), who I've previously studied, and attacking to do non-lethal damage.
Longsword: 1d20 + 3 + 1 - 4 ⇒ (10) + 3 + 1 - 4 = 10
Damage (+1 when flanking): 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 3 + 1 = 6

"What do you think it is?" Daverin asks the caravan's wizard, approaching calmly as he glances over at the man.

Can I study him before combat begins?

"Force them to disperse, I think. I should be able to disable the second mage to ensure they're not called back before we can grab the elixir and retreat," Daverin says. "The sooner we're done with all this skulking about, the better. It's not seemly."

"I don't know the desert well, but Varnic noted several points on the convoy's route. He claimed he wanted to admire the scenery, but I suspect they could be points he's considering for ambushes of his own," Daverin says, noting the locations for the others. "Perhaps we could investigate them before the caravan arrives and make sure no one is lurking in wait there."

Thanks for the good rolls, GM. Want to make all my rolls for me? I think I'll be much more successful that way.

Daverin nods, agreeing to join the caravan, though his stomach roils at the idea of pulling such a deception. He winces, his head hurting as if to splitting, but this is his lot in life, and he has to do the best he can now with this new role.

The next day, he keeps a close eye on the halfling, making sure he doesn't get up to any trouble as the others deal more immediately with him.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14

This will be my last post until Friday; I'm off to see my wife.

"Gentlemen," Daverin says. "This is not how we should behave if we're to be partners. Ill will here leads to sloppiness in the desert. And that could get us all killed!"

He voice grows harder as he puts all the menace he can muster into his words.

Diplomacy: 1d20 ⇒ 20

Going to retry with Intimidate, though I know it'll get me a penalty. Not sure if I also still get the CMD bonus.
Intimidate: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (19) + 6 = 25

I assume I'm not fatigued anymore.

Daverin's training kicks in as he spars, muscle memory overcoming his last several months since he left the service and joined the Pathfinders. Finding his balance, he twists, tossing his opponent to the ground. His hand twitches, as if reaching for his sword, but he holds back, quickly collecting himself and remembering this is only practice. He nods to the man, holding out a hand to help him out of the dirt.

Unfortunately, that seems to make him look weak and perhaps even condescending, and he again struggles otherwise to fit in with the rest of the guards.

CMB: 1d20 + 32 ⇒ (16) + 32 = 48
Intimidate: 1d20 + 6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 6 + 2 = 12
Well, one roll out of four managed to get into double digits so far...

The heat wears on him, reminding him of long days on ocean. Daverin stiffens his spine -- if only his head didn't hurt so, near to bursting. Ever since he had to leave the sea, it's as if something were inside it, just trying to get out.

He shakes himself, and resolves to keep a closer eye on what's happening, trying to point out some of the nuances mentioned by his erstwhile companion.

"Did you see that?" he asks one of the other guards, pointing at Master Luxjed's most recent trick.

Perception (fatigued): 1d20 + 6 - 2 ⇒ (9) + 6 - 2 = 13
Or not.

Daverin takes a deep breath as his new companion begins going on about the animals.

He edges away from the excitable oread, maintaining his ramrod bearing.

He nods to some of the other recruits, falling in with them and paying attention to the drill master. He takes a wide stance, as if balancing himself against a heaving sea.

Just like my first berth, back on the Dread Lady.

Profession (sailor): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

And of course, dicebot has to mess with me. Guess sailors really aren't the same as soldiers.

Knowledge (local): 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 5 + 2 = 8
Knowledge (nobility): 1d20 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 + 2 = 21

Daverin nods.

"Indeed, Master Enlil," he says. "I have little desire to sneak around like some thief. A man should be more upright than that. However, I can serve with the guards for a time and see what I may learn of how they operate.

"In all honesty, this situation seems untenable. Lady Ziralia is correct to be uncertain about the Emir's motives. Much of Pashow's populace believes Ziralia single-handedly saved the city's finances after the last two shipments of elixir were lost, and some seek to overthrow Guldis in favor of her ladyship. While I am loathe to believe base rumors, I hear Guldis sees Ziralia as a threat, but cannot openly act against her without risking retribution."

Any chance I can substitute Profession (sailor) for (soldier) considering it's intended to be military?

Just FYI, I'll be out of town Friday-Monday, with probably pretty limited posting ability (i.e. between minimal and none).

Darvful, bold typically is used only for spoken material in PBP. Italics typically are used for thought or things others can't see.

A stiff human gives a stiff bow as Ziralia is introduced.

"My Lady," he says, presenting an odd picture. His clothes -- a blue and green coat cut in naval fashion -- are fine, but clearly worn, with several threads sticking out despite obvious attempts to maintain them. A longsword at his hip clearly also is worn, though appears to be in more working condition.

"My companion raise good points, my lady," Daverin says, wincing as he takes a cup of the tea. "While I accept the risks of this mission for myself, I would be loathe to hurt those who are simply doing their job."

I'm playing a new human Pathfinder Society member.