![]()
![]()
![]() Peet wrote:
Prior to the beginning of Diablo I there was the war with Westmarch and the corruption of King Leoric by Diablo. There's only a period of 6 years between the time Tristram is ruled by King Leoric, the first rise of Diablo, his defeat, and his subsequent rise that leads into the second game. We are in 1264. Diablo I takes place in 1263. ![]()
![]() Groundhog is right that two untyped bonuses don't stack according to FAQ. That is, you can't gain the same bonus twice (like taking divine grace and an oracle mystery). In this case though, divine grace has you calculate your saves using your charisma in place of your wisdom while irrepressible adds a bonus equal to your charisma so I think they do stack. ![]()
![]() Keep in mind that according to the Orcs only those who pass the trial will be allowed to the meeting. It's a stretch, but if one of use were able to succeed multiple trials we could pressure them into allowing all of us in. Depending on how sassy War decides to be if he wins I may challenge him, just to shut him up. ![]()
![]() Lienhol scoffs. "I am vassal of the Red Queen. My faith shall not wane." With that, he takes to the concoctions. Paladin's are immune to disease so... But for giggles, here's six fortitude saves Fortitude: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (6) + 14 = 20
![]()
![]() Lienhol speaks up: "The townspeople suspect you of having engineered the curse. We came to you to investigate - and because your people are known to be practiced in the art of hexing. I have no interest in politics beyond what is necessary to bring an ends to the suffering. May I speak with your witch doctor? His insight may be valuable." ![]()
![]() Lienhol arrives to the meeting in full dress, the faint scent of incense still lingers around him. The silvery metal surface of his armor peaks out from beneath his tabard and the heavy furs that rest on his shoulders. A sword is sheathed along his back along with a shield, beneath that is a high-quality. More equipment and baubles hang from his belt and pack. Despite everything, he does not seem to be bothered by the weight. He listens with a serious look on his face and once Cedric has finished speaking he speaks up: "Where are we to meet them, Cedric? Also, you say that these are the last of the tribes. What does that mean exactly? Has something befallen the Orcs in this area?" ![]()
![]() Lienhol does not miss a beat with the new face that his companions had brought along. He strokes his chin as he continues to think over the problem. "Then we should seek an audience with them." he says "I do not wish to assume their intentions without first meeting them, but if what you say is true they may have some hand in this. If not, then at the very least we can petition them for aid. No doubt their expertise in curse-work would come in handy." ![]()
![]() Lienhol frowns deeply "I'm afraid the situation is grim. Each of these people have been afflicted with a potent curse, and until it is lifted their condition will not improve. I have already prepared orders to be sent to the Brotherhood requesting additional aid, but in the meantime I fear that our only course now would be to root out the curse at its source. It will take time for the Order to gather those with the necessary expertise to lift the curse directly, and I worry these people may not make it through the interim." The request Lienhol is referring to are the written orders that he passed onto the acolyte. He/I am assuming that we'll need remove curse in play here and none of us have that kind of magic, so we'll need either someone more experienced or some scrolls. That's all assuming we can't tackle the problem some other way. ![]()
![]() Spellcraft: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 9 = 29
Lienhol enters the temple with a polite nod to the acolyte. He spends a moment at the threshold trying to identify which deity this location was associated with. Upon entering, Lienhol sets to visiting with the patients. While his knowledge of the medical process is lacking, his insight into the dark arts is not. He spends several minutes with each of the afflicted. If they are awake he introduces himself and then does his best to ask them about their condition, particularly what they were doing before they fell ill. If they are asleep, he simply watches over them pitifully for a few minutes before moving on to the next. When he comes across the woman named Anna he talks with her a great deal, passing on her husbands wishes. Finally, when his interviewing is complete he returns to the acolyte. "These people have been cursed with dark magic and their condition will not improve until the curse is undone." He produces a parchment with some notes, as well as his signature. "This is a request for the Order to deliver further relief here. Should my companions and I be unable to locate the source of the curse then at least the Order may be able to send practitioners or scrolls to dispel the magic directly. Have it delivered to your mayor, I have preparations to make in the meantime." With that, Lienhol excuses himself and returns to the inn, then to his own room. There he sets up his own shrine and burns incense. The scented smoke that fills the room comforts him. Giving time to let the others wrap up their conversation with the mayor. Hopefully a messenger will deliver orders to the mayor while the others are there. That would save me some explaining. ![]()
![]() "I can secure our lodging then" comments Lienhol. "Afterwards I will try to locate where they are treating the sick, that I may lay eyes upon them." GM: I'll get us set up with rooms and after that I'll ask around, getting an idea of the illness from the perspective of the townsfolk. Gather Information: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (13) + 11 = 24 ![]()
![]() Alvin Timo wrote:
I'm sure there'll be a reckoning eventually mister ![]()
![]() Boon of Stamina:
It is early morning. The sun will rise soon. Lienhol sits alone in the destroyed ballroom, his back pressed against the wall. His eyes are half open, staring at some far off point in space. Nearby there are heaps of bloody bandages, testament to lives lost and lives saved. One bot (for he could have hardly been called a man) had bled to death from a gruesome stomach wound before the healers could arrive. That was hours ago. Lienhol had administered last rites. The room is obscured by wafting smoke. Lienhol recognizes it as healy myrrh - a powerful holistic resin designed to aid the wounded. No doubt it had seeped in from wherever the healers had taken them. The screaming stopped hours ago - Lienhol could only hope that they had found proper rest. Near the middle of the night Lienhol had come across the crumpled form of a cultist amidst a pile of slain brothers. His wounds were severe, yet he lived. Lienhol looked at him with cold eyes, yet still he dug this man free and brought him to the healers so that he could be saved. Part of his vows echo through his head: “Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it.” Lienhols mind returns to the present. He had very nearly nodded off, but dawn was near and there would be more work to do. The first rays of the rising sun break through a nearby window, banishing the hazy night and striking singularly upon the weary champions brow. He rises to his feet, illuminated by the morning light, and whispers to himself his oath: "I am Dreadguard." Ready for the morning line-up unless someone has something else they want to do in the evening. ![]()
![]() Lienhol stops his work momentarily to listen to Alvins speech. However, his face grows dark as the other half-elf carries on. Somehow, he manages to allow him to finish before interjecting in a low, controlled tone. "I daresay you spit on the graves of the fallen in this dark time, brother, but perhaps you are simply misguided. Either way, I will not abide your rhetoric any longer. Know this: surrounding oneself with allies of convenience does not a long life make." With that, Lienhol returns to his duties.
|