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Marianne freezes at the elemental's words, a look of shock and a twinge of horror on her face. Choose. Dead Sky! Family or God. She told me to choose! Family or God. I... she told me to choose. Family or God. That means she can't be as bad as the dragon, right? Family or God. This is an air elemental, a servant of Dead Sky, she can't be dangerous to us... assuming that's what she is. Family or God. From Wamblee's story, dragons should be our allies against the Dark, or at least against the ifrits. Family or God. And yet that thing was as Dark-ridden as they come.Family or God. She is still frozen when Samoon attempts to bluff the being. Why? Family or God. Why would she hurt a sylph?! Family or God. Impudence yes, but she knows he loves Bree, she's shown it. Family or God. But, who am I to judge an elemental? Family or God. Who? Family. Or. God.

An ele. A fletcher. A ranger. A zealot. A sister. That is who I am. That is all I am. Head pounding with uncertainty and fear, she gazes at her trembling brother, and sees a nightmare in those eyes as he falls into the deathlike sleep. The sister turns away, and the zealot's eyes blaze. "Enough!" the sylph with eyes like flame shouts in the silence, as much at herself as the being she now faces. "You are no thing of His, no servant of Dead Sky, bringer of nightmares and pain. You told me to choose, and I have. Leave, abomination. I call you a thing of the Dark and denounce you. If you were His once, you are not now. When Sky turns His Eye upon this world once more, he will see you, and find you unworthy of His grace. Begone from this place, begone from that ele, be ye spawn of Darkness or fallen angel!" The roar of a tempest. For the briefest moment, so slight even she might not have noticed, the raging winds around her lift her off the ground. Just an inch.

In a place without wind, far from the surface, a young ele makes her choice, and the winds answer.There is no choice. What is the point of gods if they would force that choice? No. I serve Dead Sky, and I love my family. I will not relinquish that. And woe unto anyone who would try to make me. Family and God.

This situation calls for a lot more from Marianne than I will have time to do for a while, but I should have time to get a proper post up this afternoon.

”It is fine, Bertrude, worry not,” Marianne tells the old ele. Turning to the rest, she says ”You are all we have found so far. There were a number of enthralled ifrits above ground, but that is all we’ve seen. We haven’t fully explored this place, and I am confident we will find the rest,” she lies. ”I hate to say this, but we need to hear your stories now, before we move. The dragon is dead, but we haven’t seen everything yet, and we need to know what is going on before we start running around blindly trying to play heroes.” Noting Samoon and Albreane’s interaction, she walks around and sits down back to the wall, so that the former prisoners have to look away from the pair in order to watch her.

"Samen! Crack its head to be sure and get moving! Big Sitter only starts laughing like that when fights get deadly!" Marianne calls, sprinting down the tunnel after the other group.

When she arrives, she immediately drops to her knees next to Wamblee. "You're tougher than any of us, so why are you always the one we are pulling back from the brink of death?" she mutters angrily as she tears off part of his clothing and tries to bandage him. As she does, Marianne raises her voice, roaring into the darkness. "Samen! Get your stony ass down here! Wamblee went and got himself half-killed again!"

Heal (untrained, First Aid): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

Wait, did I just happen to toss that in right before you introduced him?!

”Tie him,” Marianne demands, another arrow aimed at the el. If she seems more angry than is warranted, everyone remembers the only el dumb enough to shorten her name. Come to think of it, Big Sitter always ended up with an arrow or two in him too, or at least cuts from those oversized arrows Marianne insists on using as daggers.

Thought I’d toss in some exposition if we are going to be sitting over the holidays. Big Sitter is an independently-minded Oread wanderer who occasionally comes through town. He and Marianne often get into... heated... arguments over their very differing philosophies, to the point where most of the town went out of their way to keep them from interacting. It rarely worked.

”The estate first, those supplies.can wait until we have a better handle on the situation,” Marianne says breezily.

Marianne's cloak turns a brilliant sky blue as she puts it on, but it takes her a moment to notice. "Blue, huh?" she notes, nonplussed, before shrugging. "The winds blow as Dead Sky wills them."

To revive or rediscover Sky. I know you said at this moment, but that's pretty much always on her mind.

Time split!
Marianne blinks eyeing her brother’s impressive winning round skeptically. ”I think I’ll pass,” she says simply, returning to her reverie.

///

Marianne shakes her head as Albreane finishes. ”Thank you, I truly appreciate it,” she says emphatically. ”But I think you are wrong about there being time. I don’t blame you, I’m probably the only person who pays this much attention to the winds,” the zealot admits with a wry smile. ”They’re stirring, especially the Sylph-Winds. Not really restless, it’s too faint, but things are starting to move that haven’t in millenia. When they rest again... who knows what the world will look like?” Marianne lapses back into silence once more, staring at a stray leaf on the floor dancing in her winds.

Marianne eats contemplatively, simply watching and not speaking much. Her gaze rests on Albreane most of all, but just as often she is staring without seeing, lost in her own thoughts. Mother is dead, we’re hunting a dragon, and I’m carrying the holiest relic to be seen since Sky’s Fall. I know I should be upset about her death, but... I am too excited about Dead Sky. What was it Old Bertrude said one time? “Zeal and devotion are all well and good girly. Just remember that you’re an elen, and that at the end of the day, the best priests belonged to their people first. It’s through devotion to the gods that we serve our people. The people. Come. First.” Marianne absently rubs at her chest at the thought, remembering the bony jabs that had served to emphasize that particular lesson, as her mind continues to drift down long, twisting paths into the future.

Marianne approaches last, gently laying her hand on Mother's chest, right over the heart, while the other holds the open scroll. Her winds are barely enough to stir their hair as she stays motionless for a long moment. Then, the scroll stills, despite the breeze, and the letters shift as new ones appear, and Marianne begins to read aloud. "O Prionsa Raven nach féidir a fháil, d'fhéadfadh na réaltaí a shineadh tríd na sroicheann endless chun an cosán i bhfolach a chur in iúl i dtailte na spéir.
Bhanríon mór na Zephyrs, lig do bhréagáin na rúin a bhaineann leis na mairbh amháin.
Seachtainiúil ciallmhar, tá an t-aon duine seo romham réidh le do ghlacadh. Tóg í isteach i do airm, agus é a threorú chuig a teach nua thar na scamaill." There are tears in her eyes when she finishes, and as the body fades, three more words slip out to hang in the silent air. "I love you," and then she is crying on the closest brother's shoulder, great heaving sobs as she clutches him tightly.

Anyone feel free to pick that up.

Marianne quickly jostles Samoon out of the way. Instantly, her hand reaches for a cloak, but stops short of grabbing it. "Four here, four siblings. They're obviously intended for us, but probably too conspicuous for now..." she trails off, eyeing the feather cloaks longingly. "If I touch one, I am putting it on and not taking it off, someone else grab mine for now," she says, a bit of mother's brisk command slipping into her voice unnoticed as she hurriedly pulls out the journal. Upon seeing Samoon's staff revealing it though, she pushes the journal onto him without reading it and keeps moving. Finally, Marianne grabs the arrow, and in drawing back to identify it, eager zealot finally gives her siblings the opportunity to peer inside themselves.

Momentarily distracted by similar thoughts to Samen's Marianne quickly glances between the shackles, Albreane, and Samoon in quick succession. I wonder... no not now, she thinks, shaking herself as she follows her family, eyes scanning the crowd for threats.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

Or not

Yeah he's a magus, but it still cracks me up that we're using the our only real caster, and an arcane caster at that, exclusively as muscle.

Marianne's winds whip about her in a frenzy as she draws and knocks her bow, quickly turning the carefully arranged study into a confusion of flying papers. After a few seconds, the winds seem to pull in on themselves, coalescing around the arrow, now barely visible through the whirlwind of stray particles caught in the winds surrounding it. In a quiet voice choked with fury, barely heard over the gale surrounding the arrow, Marianne finally speaks. "One of two things is going on. Either you have made a pact with the spawn of an evil older than the Dark itself, or," and at this her voice grows cold as the winds of Icefall, "Or, you have trapped a holy being of your own god far from the winds it should call home. Choose your next words carefully, Ser Rentwyrth."

Init: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
”Ifreet!” Marianne snaps back.

What did Pugliesi want with Bree again?

”We don’t have time to deal with this!” Marianne snaps, the wind picking up menacingly for a moment, before subsiding with a sigh, both from the wind and the woman. She stands, revealing the readied longbow from behind the seat as she puts it back over her shoulder. She hops off the wagon, and walks up to the ifrit, stepping casually between her (mostly) large and threatening brothers. ”Look, you’re in way over your head here,” she addresses him with a friendly smile. ”That guy is bad news, and as you may have noticed, we’re not exactly meek either. There’s also a lot more going on here than a simple debt, stuff you don’t want to know about, both for how nasty it is, and because it would drag you in. You’re better off just walking away, and telling that el you never saw us. No threat, just friendly advice, take it as you will,” she finishes, watching him carefully to see if he will do as she asks.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17

You just had to make an alchemist, didn’t you Samoon? It completely ruined my mental image of this scene! I’ve got two burly oreads looming over this guy, and then your scrawny sylph! ;)

Nice rolling there Wamblee.

Marianne takes her usual spot next to Albreane, bow at the ready. The only difference is that this time there is a little less friendly conversation, and a bit more worried prayer.

There is a cantrip on d20pfsrd called jolt, it’s listed as a rare cantrip here

So we are just ignoring who is inside and outside of the wagon at any time for the purpose of the conversation? I feel sorting it out would be too much of a hassle for you to not mean that, but I still want to clarify.

”Bree loves her justice almost as much as I love Sky,” Marianne says with a faint smile. ”She will help us.”

While outside, Marianne spends the first few hours by catching up with Albreane, before they settle into a conversation whose topics shift like the winds, wandering wherever a fancy might take them.

I just thought of something that I’m going to retconn into Marianne’s character: she prays for an hour each day as if she were a full cleric, rather than a ranger who can’t even cast spells yet.

Marianne shakes her head when she sees Wamblee attempt to secure directions from an ifrit, and catches a passing sylph’s attention. ”Excuse me, would you happen to know of an inn myself and my family could stay at? Preferably one that won’t have a problem with catering to oreads and sylphs? We’re all a bit too roadweary to deal with racist b$##&!@! right now,” she says in a cheerful, friendly manner.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (9) + 7 = 16

Ooh, I like the reveal over time idea, thanks for that.

I have to agree with Zhayne in the context of most campaigns, aside from the awesome flavor of being an immortal wizard of immense power, it isn't really all that useful.

That said, if I ever get a wizard to 20th, I'm still going to take it every time.

I'm in a similar boat to you, minus the curiosity about why people like to play evil characters. One motivation is that they can simply run amok. I think that is a major draw of evil games, you can do whatever you want, without any real consequences, and the in game consequences are part of the story. I think you are mostly referring to all evil games, but some character concepts are simply evil in nature. One of the concepts I have that I really want to play is a LE diabolist (devil binding PrC, not sure if I got the name right), one of my favorite characters, but he could never work as anything else, with or without alignment restrictions. I don't think I completely addressed your question, but that is most of my understanding.

I do play-by-post here on the forums and have started searching for translators to replicate languages. So far I have goblin, draconic, infernal, elven or celestial, it could work for either.

Does anyone else have any they use? Better ones for some I have? Other ones? All are welcome. So are systems for making normal speech sound/look like a given language, or real world languages that might fit something.

Actually, sorcerers would be rarer than they would seem, because of something we tend to overlook: not everyone can be a sorcerer. A 20 Charisma does not allow someone to manifest sorcery, because it is based on bloodline. If you include sorcerers, you need to figure out how much potential/bloodline align with the charisma to make it work. Actually, that's an interesting prospect. What happens when someone has a sorcerous bloodline, but doesn't have the Charisma to cast? You get a group of people with strange powers, but no spellcasting. I'll go through the bloodlines to see what first level bloodline powers would have any effect.

Another thing to consider is level. Paizo once mentioned that an Olympic athlete would be 4th level, which means that if you follow that, 2nd level spells would be rare, and 3rd level spells extremely so.

Great series, I haven't finished it yet though.

I love that this thread exists.

That sounds like a great idea! For everyone who doesn't have to run all of those games. :)

Just thought of something. The monkey butler was suggested, but I think I will turn my imp from diabolist into a butler and make him dress up. Now I just need to figure out how to find a tailor willing to cater to him...

Thanks for all the suggestions! :)

Thanks, I forgot about AoN

Thanks! Stygian is cool, but super situational. And I like the Ruach Magic

The third and final submission of Dotraj, I present the half-incorporeal sorcerer Arkhenos Illudary.

Quick explanation of the semi-incorporeal thing: it doesn't do anything on its own, the abilities related to it are all racial abilties of Xindi, if that explanation made sense. Basically a semi-incorporeal character is treated as corporeal except where noted.

I feel childish double-posting for this reason alone, but I've accidentally started the last two pages, and now I want to keep it going. ;)