Retiring...
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Was afraid if that... If you don't mind pming the players in case you do return, that would be great.
The gunslinger looks around on the darkness, pulls his pistol and fires a shot into the air. "Hello?"
Eldred pulls a drag from his cigarette and rests a hand on the butt of his pistol. "Be a shame ya, gettin' loosed o' that evil only ta get pistol whipped into oblivion." The weight of his hand causes the leather of the holster to creak. "Spill it, whiskers. What's your party in this mess, n' whadya know."
Eldred snaps back to the present and he looks to the Commissar Kathlyn then to the cleric of Nethys. . "Can you see if he's on the level? Then can ya pull it offa him?" He glances back to the wererat. "Before his guts get turned into Varisian gazpacho."
Eldred's mind slides back two years and sees the stumbling form of Glados Fip emerge from the underbrush and trees. They'd sent him ahead of the reconnaissance party to scout the interior. Fip's eyes were bulging, hands clutching his middle, his words coming in strangled gasps. It wasn't until he was nearly upon the group that Eldred and the others had noted the ritual carvings all along his arms and neck. "Fip...don't speak! Hold your tongue..." Their cleric, a half-elf for Shelyn who'd lost nearly all his mirth, stepped forward. But it'd been too late. Fip attempted to speak, to warn the party of who'd harmed him. His heart burst in his chest and he'd been dead before he hit the ground. Eldred snaps back to the present and he looks to the Commissar Kathlyn. "Unless out ambassador here has the ability, or Nathmir decides ta grace us with his presence, we're going to need a priest...someone to see if he's on the level n' one who can pull it offa him." He glances back to the wererat. "Before his guts get turned into Varisian gazpacho."
Tally-ho, good sir. Enjoy!
Eldred folds his arms across his chest, oddly aware of the Commissariat pin on his uniform. Out in the yard there are two men setting about the dismantling of the fountain. Whadda they take me for anyway? Some dandy needs something pretty ta calm my nerves? "Sir, I just want to be sure about your request..." His name is Marcum, a diminutive human assigned as Eldred's head of house. He winces as the workmen set about pulverizing the fountain, bald pate shiny in the morning sun as he looks at the ham fisted list the gunslinger had provided him. "Might at kiln cause things to be intemperate back here?" "How'm I gonna melt down some shot without a work place? Ya want me ta do it in the house?" "Blessed gods no, sir." Eldred spits to the side and growls. "Didn't think so...n' stop callin' me sir. Makes me feel old n' noble n' useless." He steps away from Marcum and gives a shout to one of the workmen. Instead of letting them have all the fun, he pulls off his coat and drapes it over a collection of piled lumber, then grabs a sledge and wades into the work. At the least, having the new digs meant he had an excuse to 'requisition' the odd assortment of greenies from the gun yards. He could get updates on their training and he could get folks to man his house that he could halfway trust. His different rooms in the place were well on their way to being useful. Additions of a few helpful books so he could read up on alchemy, tactics and even the occasional gun tome when he could get it from Rud's. The backyard is where the most change will occur. A kiln and workshop for fabricating rounds and modifying his guns had been top of the list. "My lord?" Marcum has to shout a few times to raise his voice above the din. Eventually Eldred comes over to see what he needs. "A message for you..." He bites down on the 'sir' before it escapes his lips. He reads through the brief letter and nods, wadding get it up and stuffing it in a trouser pocket. "See to the boys, Marcum. Make sure they're fed and get home before midday. They got drills this afternoon." He grabs up his uniform coat and heads into his house, pausing briefly to splash some water on his face and hands before strapping on his gun and short sword and departing. Can't let that red monkey have all the fun... -------------- Eldred admires Zeltresh's handiwork. "Wouldn't mind a touch up on my armor, but we'll see what time allows." Before he can say anything further, they're ushered into the interrogation room where Terandar and Kathlyn are waiting. Eldred gives a simple salute to his new boss and stands to the side as Rutilus begins his work. Besides, no need to cozy up to that creepy crawly on his shoulder. Wonder why we're workin' the rat this way? Wouldn't a beating do the trick? Eldred pulls a fresh pinch of tobacco and begins rolling a cigarette. As he does so he throws a bit of warning the rat's way. "Better offer up all ya know, omae. This here devil-man ain't part o' the chain o' command if ya catch my meaning. N' bein' a diplomat n' all, he's pretty much got run of the place. So you talk, we might avoid havin' ta commit your rat-soul to the pleasure of a demon." ♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤
Mr. Brimleydower, So I'm wanting to leverage my craft(alchemy) skill in fabricating some boosted rounds for the old pistol. As an example, I would like to create bullets that disperse smoke (within a 5-ft) or perhaps triggers a brilliant flash of light upon impact, etc. What would be the steps for me to run experiments / research?
Wow step away for a few days and bam! Mr. Brim, would it be okay of I turned part of my upstairs into an alchemist/gunsmith area? That would hinge on this question... I'm thinking if going Investigator my next level to coincide with Eldreds changeb in directive. But the new class also comes with the access to alchemical tomfoolery. Any chance I could parlay those new skills into developing custom loads for my gun? Also, would a musket be available for purchase and can I look into acquiring a second pistol?
The gunslinger fester under the attention given the group. Never one to seek the spotlight, he passes the time and covers over his discomfort by imagining a lead round caving in the skulls of the nobility in the cavernous room. The imagery conjures another of his vile grins that stretches the scar along his face. About the only time he pays close attention is during the raising of Vincent and Adurus. "Well done, gentlemen," the gunslinger offers by way of congratulations the look in his eyes conveying his regard for the two young men. But further compliments aren't in the offing, Eldred preferring to wait and see what the two accomplish with their new rank. He claps them on the shoulders and steps away, you two got enough pud-pullin' from these worthless dandies ta last a year... Time continues to crawl slower than a wounded orc in tar, just adding to Eldred's mounting impatience. The lauding of their 'victory' serves only to bring a sting of bile to the back of his throat. Buncha fancies n' nitwits celebratin' a job half done n' done half-arsed ta boot. Gods I'd like ta put a bullet in all their misbegotten sires ta pay 'em back fer squirtin' these turds out... It's at the end of his fuse Eldred finds himself sitting across from General Hakar. He grabs the lapel of a passing attendant as he pulls out his seat. "This hero of Braganza wants the strongest ale ya got, full stein... none o' these sissy drinks...hit it with three fingers o' whiskey." Food and drink serve to keep his craw full instead of talking. A far better thing than what he wants to say to the hulking general. You could put a round through his eye at this range, Dread old boy... Frig is always more vocal when Eldred gets into his cups. And he's usually quite convincing. But the attendant returns to refill his stein with a strong and bitter ale, giving Eldred's gun hand something else to grab. But when Hakar levels his manic stare his way, he can hardly restrain the grinding of his teeth. Riddard...Aljin...Pnassa...Hittmer....Frig... More names pile through his mind like a roll call at reveille. When it comes to him to speak Eldred plants his stein heavily on the table and leans in to keep the conversation between the smaller group. "I plan on gettin' outta these sissy clothes n' findin' whoever wrecked the city...then I'll put a bullet in his head n' see if that's the start or finish. These idiots think a job half done's good enough..." He drums his fingers on the table and shakes his head. "What're ya doin' this far south General? Ramgate's gotta be missing ya...n' I'm sure there's a butcher's bill needin' payin'."
Think I'm good with Eldred for now. But I'll hit a couple of levels in Investigator next.
The gunslinger grins and shakes his head and gives the rank pin a brief tap. "Not sure if someone's bracin' me up fer the gibbet with this jackasserie." He hooks his thumbs in his belt and considers things for a moment. "Ya ain't got nothing to fear from this ol' cuss, son. Yer 'bout the only honest fool I know on this city."
Eldred holsters his gun and eyes the prisoners. With them both secured and ready for the tombs he wonders at their motivations and who may be pulling the strings. To think they'd been able to infiltrate this far... "Hold on there, Guardsman," Eldred halts the group readying to take away the prisoners. Pulling strips of cloth from the prisoners' clothing he sets about tightly binding their hands and fingers then tying blinders over their eyes. Lastly he gags then both to ensure they can't utter encantations.
That done, he stands alongside Teldas and begins roughly straightening out his own coat too. At the questioning look from the nobleman, Eldred shrugs. "At this rate, I can count the people I trust in this city on one hand. I ain't lettin' our first good leads get bushwacked while we're gettin' our arses kissed in this party."
Any suggestions for me would be appreciated. I'm liking the character so far, but I'm wondering if a level in Investigator would be suitable for his style. Something that gave him direction into the I new line of work he finds himself in now. Plus the alchemy connection could be useful in crafting specialized ammo down the road. Also, what's the idea with two-weapon fighting? Could that be used to have a gun in each hand?
"Ya got him on the ropesn Arzazel. Tie him up n' keep him breathin'. We got someone to interrogate now." Eldred, satisfied Arzazel has the wererat in hand, he scoots back into the fray (2 squares right of Sampson) and fires a shot.
There ya are... Eldred turns on his heels and watches as the concussive sonic force impacts the enemy and he charges the newcomer. As he nears he brings the heavy barrel of his pistol across the wererat's face and clubs him while at the same time thrusting out with a booted heel to kick the assassin's legs out from under him. "Welcome to the party, bunkie...sit, stay a while." he grits out between his teeth. "Hey Arzazel, time for a good old fashioned beating!" ♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤
Pistol-Whip (Ex): At 3rd level, the gunslinger can make a surprise melee attack with the butt or handle of her firearm as a standard action. When she does, she is considered to be proficient with the firearm as a melee weapon and gains a bonus on the attack and damage rolls equal to the enhancement bonus of the firearm. The damage dealt by the pistol-whip is of the bludgeoning type, and is determined by the size of the firearm. One-handed firearms deal 1d6 points of damage (1d4 if wielded by Small creatures) and two-handed firearms deal 1d10 points of damage (1d8 if wielded by Small creatures). Regardless of the gunslinger's size, the critical multiplier of this attack is 20/×2. If the attack hits, the gunslinger can make a combat maneuver check to knock the target prone as a free action. Performing this deed costs 1 grit point.
Take fire, talk to bats if the bats don't listen, burn them. It all ends in BBQ.
Eldred steps into close range with the nearest of the acolytes facing Sampson, placing himself between Rutilus and the visible dangers. "Picked the wrong party to crash, bub." The gunslinger brings up his weapon and shoots the nearest acoylte. He's already clearing the barrel and reloading as he calls over his shoulder. "Can't you get that varmint o' yours lookin' for Mr. Invisible? Lock him down so I can plug him. Unless ya gotta spellbreaker up your sleeve." ♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤
Surprise Round Eldred's weapon is in his hand immediately as he sweeps the area for threats. Seeing Sampson step in front of Zeltresh, the gunslinger moves to back up the demons pawn and place himself between it and any danger.
Eldred watches the Archbanker depart. Fella's a few grains shy of a full load... We've done it, Frig opines. we've managed to find the most insane noble of the lot. No argument there, omae. None at all. Looney as a Shoanti on bloodweed... He grins, the slight facial gesture drawing taut the long scar lining the right side of his face. Eldred reaches for his tobacco pouch, eager to roll a cigarette now that the nobility was clear. But his grin slips when he realizes his pouch is safely stowed back in his quarters. Vincent steps forward first to press the remaining prelate with questions. "Vin-vin's got the right of it." He grins again, this time towards Vincent as if to say, ya didn't think I was gonna let that gold nugget go, did ya? The gunslinger looks back to the prelate. "So? Just what sorta jubilee we got headin' our way?"
Eldred puts the new information on Arzazel away for another time, but he takes a moment to scan the faces of the prelates behind the Archbanker for any reactions to the announcment. "Eldred Pentwert, milord." he makes a slight bow of respect and remains at parade rest. But he spares a grin for Vincent. First time I never thought a noble was full o' beans doin' a greeting like that... Aww, will Master Vincent restore your faith in mankind, Dread? Frig chides. I wonder if they got an exorcist in this here temple...
Brimleydower or Thron
In my head, I'd like to spec him up to be an investigator, like an Internal Affairs type it geared towards ferret in out spies and traitors. His investigation into the saboteur has given a taste of future purpose.
Eldred strides along with the group, taking the right side to keep his gun hand clear. Though the guardsmen are formidable, tell gunslinger knows that there are few things this side of the dirt more powerful than a man with will. While a wall of men kept the citizenry at bay, a gun or and arrow could do just as much damage as a knife. His cold blue eyes scan the crowd, searching for threatening individuals. The primary focus is on what looks out of place...
Talk is Cheap!:
Downtime Rules:
On that note, I'm realizing just how much Eldred is going to enjoy stepping into this new role in the inquisition. While in my head in picturing the group of the same name in Warhammer 40k, it's giving me the idea of forming a type of counterintelligence guy. Maybe someone who ferrets out those who would bring down Molthune from the inside...like the one who infiltrated the Wasteworks. It's a combo of his dealings with Rutilus and Nathmir's detachment from the country. While Eldred isn't a diehard patriot, he still feels loyalty is important. And if you don't have it...them why are you here? So further down time episodes would be fun. Bonds:
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In my head, I'd like to spec him up to be an investigator, like an Internal Affairs type it geared towards ferret in out spies and traitors. His investigation into the saboteur has given a taste of future purpose.
Eldred keeps his arms folded but nods understanding. "We get through this pat on the back, then get to work. We got unknown enemies...could be Nirmathi...could be yellow-gut, spineless traitors." The gunslinger makes as though to reach for his tobacco pouch and wrappers and realizes they're back in his quarters. "We set our necks out, bait the line so to speak, n' see if we can't draw 'em out." He spares a glance towards Zeltresh and Rutilus. "And there's work to be done besides followin' what little we got by of a backtrail, so we ain't idle." "Sounds better than sittin' on our arses. Leastways it ups the odds I get ta plug some palooka thinks they can trash this city."
The gunslinger shakes his head and pinches his eyes shut in silent frustration. Don't tell me the demon-humper's got more sense than this guy. Eldred stands ready, expecting the Bailiff to request the impudent priest of Nethys be clapped in irons. Don't matter if you're on leave er not, punkin', you're a soldier or ya can kiss off n' join the plebes...
Eldred's eyes flare wide with rage and he snaps his ahead around towards Rutilus. Call me a devil worshipper again, you misbegotten spawn o' horse-rapin' demons. So help me, I don't care how fast they march me to the gibbet, me n' ol' Lia'll put a 10th pit o' hell 'tween them horns o' yours. The gunslinger clears his throat and turns away from the red-faced beast, and oddly enough his anger diffuses and he chuckles softly. "Our esteemed ambassador's gotta point, Bailiff." And when his work's done, I'll personally see he goes to one o' his lovely pits so he can get in all the devil-humpin' his little demon heart desires...
Eldred frowns and folds his arms across his chest, more aware thsn ever of his dress uniform and the campaign ribbons...and the new addition of the badge. I ain't a symbol, that's not my purpose... "I can't speak for the others here, Bailiff..." Eldred considers his words, like looking down the iron sights of the musket he'd been practicing with the past few weeks. "...but is that the best use of us as a group? I ain't tryin' to throw a kobold in the frillies shop, but the people don't know our faces from a whole in the ground. 7 Hells, it coulda been a squad o' minotaurs that pulled the kettle off the boiler." Eldred holds back some of his opinions of the 'people ' and continues, tilting his head towards the others in the group. "We were closer than most to this mess, perhaps having our faces out there for all to see could get in the way of us gettin' to the bottom of what happened. It's like usin, a pistol to burn down a barn when ya got good lantern oil n' tendertwigs close to hand."
Eldred files in with the rest of the group, mulling over the look he is receiving from Vincent in the process. Wonder if the kid has a hangover or something... The soft thump of his newly minted station reminds him of another possible reason. ...oh...I better see about puttin' that thing away. Maybe use it when it's needed to get doors opened and such... He puts it aside for now as the Bailiff greets them. The gunslinger offers a crisp salute, owing to the newfound respect he had for the man. "Saviors...a bit strong I reckon, sir. You had your tail in the sling just as much as we did back at the Foundry. Standin' the line like that puts a steel rod in a man's spine." A glance over his shoulder towards the now closed doors. Memories of Hakar cutting down a man...one of his own men...flashes across the gunslinger's memory. He returns his attention to Terandar and awaits for events to unfold.
Brimleydower or Thron:
He stares at the badge of office on the desk like it's a newly minted round for ol Lia. "So I keep 'em safe, and I keep an eye on the demon-humper." Eldred raises his gaze from the badge to meet the Commissar's. "Couple questions..." He holds up his trigger finger. "...one, what's their mission? I'd like to hear it from you so's I know when the demon-humper's getting outta line. Also helps so I know when to shoot or when to discuss matters.
He holds up a second finger. "Second, if things get ugly with the Chelaxian...do I got permission to put a round through his red devil face? Or am I strictly watching?" ♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤♧♢♡♤
Eldred stares at his drab and distorted reflection in the polished steel mirror. He'd finally leveraged one of the court pages to get his dress uniform cleaned and pressed. To have it on now, he wonders if it will restrict his draw speed. His closed hand, enclosed in a leather glove flies to the holster and pulls his gun in a single motion. Slow...and the glove ruins my feel for the grips... His lip just below the spot where his scar ends curls in a sneer. The gunslinger hated these sort of things. Ceremonies were for pompous morons who just signed the Butcher's Bill but never actually saw the cost. The gun goes back into the holster. And now I'm a guard dog for the Commissariat... You could have been a guard horse...or a guard jacka... Shove it, Frig. Eldred thumps a fist down on his dresser. They took away the greenies...my rank... Yeah, but now you can make people disappear... Frig's ghost clears his nonexistent throat and affects an official voice. "I, Dread Pentwert, hereby declare you a traitor and commend your sorry arse to the pits of Blackmire Swamp!" Think the badge would work on you, ya miserable halfer? That hurts, Dread. That really hurts. But Frig laughs with glee. The gunslinger turns away from the image on the wall and strides to the door of his quarters. Given he lives only a few feet away from the entrance to Terandar's Court, he'd opted to wait until the last minute before departing. Once he's out in the receiving area just beyond the doors of the Bailiff's Court he waits patiently. Eldred is a different sort, now garbled in his dress uniform with the deep red and black patterns. Gone is his customary longcoat and the broad-brimmed hat. On his breast are the pins corresponding to his time at Fort Ramgate, but gone is the crossed-pistol pin denoting him an instructor in the Fusiliers. Replacing it is the silver hawk clutching the personal sigil of Imperial Markwin Teldas, marking him as a member of the Directorate. Oddly enough he spits a similar badge affixed to Sampson's chest. For his part, Eldred remains quiet, offering greetings to the others but wanting to be alone with his thoughts. When General Hakar storms out of the Court, Eldred knuckles a brief salute, but the ire he feels at the sight of the big man is obvious. "I don't care how many you'll lose, Corporal! All I care about is you following my orders to the letter. Now get your squad moving before I have you executed and fed to my dog!" Eldred shakes at way the memory and returns his eyes front to await admittance to the Court. "Let's get this over with..." He grumbles to himself.
I have a couple of questions for the Commisar. Is that ok?
Eldred offers a salute and pulls off his longcoat and drapes it over the ladder-back chair at his desk. "Ain't gonna get much brighter with sleep, Commissar." He motions to the small table a few feet beyond the desk. "Have a seat if it pleases ya." There are few things Eldred likes about the quarters afforded him. A simple man with even simpler needs, he always thinks it outranked his actual rank. He was a mudman, a ground-pounder...a hunter. But the idea of having fresh water at hand appeals to his growing headache. Eldred pours himself a customer of water, then after a pause, pours one for his 'guest'. His stark-blue shooter's eyes take in the woman, the uniform and the medals. Campaign insignias told a lot about someone in the service. "Ya ain't got the blackcoats of the inquisition standing around....figure you'd have me already fitted 'fore you stepped in here. So, if the noose ain't for me, then who's it for?" 》 ...identifying items on her uniform
"Word on the street the bug guy's lookin' ta do some more killing. Can't say I know what to think of what he's made of...but he's Hermean." He frowns and curls a lip. "That devil-humpin' hellspawn outta Cheliax has been hold up in his embassy far as I know. Nothing on Zeltresh or Arzazel... But Nathmir's preaching up a storm, on his way to building a right nice following..." Eldred shakes his head. "Far as Adurus, got the same whiff, he's lookin' for friends. But I've seen neither hide nor hair." He downs the fresh ale in a few gulps and pushes himself up from the bar. ... He fishes 3 silver marks out of his hip pouch and lays it in the bartop. "Mine n' his Farn. Much obliged." Then he puts on his hat and grins towards Teldas. "No time like the present moment, eh? 'Sides, I owe the boy an ale or two for pullin' my biscuits outta the fire. He's over in your neck of the woods, right? Let's go pay him a visit."
Eldred chews on the Field-Squire's words for a minute, letting the silence stretch between them. Knew I liked this kid for reason... 5 to 1 and a pouch of Brevish tobacco says ya get him killed inside a fortnight... the ghost of his friend chides. Shut it, Frig... But his hand goes to the lucky charm he wears around his neck. The medallion had belonged to his late friend, a halfling who'd been a constant companion at Fort Ramgate. He's a crafty one, but he's got heart...and gumption. "I remember a sortie a year ago, me n' my outfit got pinned between a quartet of elven rangers and a gods forsaken earth elemental." Eldred finishes rolling his cigarettes and put it to his master using the nearby candle to light it. "Ran outta lead, our crossbowman no bolts...got down to usin' spears and swords...then rocks..." The gunslinger shakes his head and downs the rest of his tankard. "But we got the job done, we used the tools put in front of us." You split that elf's skull open, Dread. Remember his face? Eldred grits his teeth as the image of the young elf archer crosses his eye. He ignores the voice of Frig in his head and continues. "Sometimes you go to the fight with guns...maybe ya for mentors that set ya straight. But sometimes you're left with rocks ta keep your skin on...so you use what you got." The gunslinger signals Farn for another drink with a seesaw of his empty mug. "So you've got a gaggle of lick-spittles who wanna use you." Eldred shrugs and nods thanks to Farn when he drops off a new mug. "Think for them as bullets. And I as I always say, there's a bullet for every target. Present company excluded, but there's nearly nothing a noble likes more than a cause. And the may be a time when your men need something...boots, better equipment...they have the pull with the muckity mucks to make it happens." Eldred holds up his tankard in salute. "They may be nimrods n' morons, sir. But Abadar bless it, they're your nimrods n' morons..." He takes a drag of his smoke and sets his tankard down.
Eldred chuckles at Teldas' request to be himself.. "Ya see me puttin' on petty coats n' perfume? I gave ya the 'sir', bunkie, cuz ya earned it." "As for Leovarde... no. He musta popped in the same way that ball-bustin' gizmo puckered up and popped out after we ruined its day." He shrugs. "I've got a few lines out I've yet to pull in, but my fishing expeditions been a bust. Gone to the taverns, the normal haunts around the Foundry for laborers...even 'proper' channels." He finishes rolling his cigarette and offers it to Teldas with one hand while he fishes out his tobacco with the other. "What's got you by the shorts? They over starch yer undies?"
Eldred sips at his tankard and wonders at the passed few days. So far his investigations had yielded about as much fruit as a fishmonger's stall. There are one or two of his contacts remaining to pan out, but the gunslinger wasn't holding his breath. "Have another, Dread?" Farn asks, scrubbing at the bar top in front of the gunslinger then tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Reload," Eldred responds as he darts his hands into his satchel to retrieve his tobacco and a fresh wrapper. "...ain't got pressin' business in the morn. The greenies 're sleepin' in..." Farn is a veteran, served up north in the regulars, a pikeman. He grabs up Eldred's tankard and deftly refills it with only one hand, seeing as the other arm is missing below the shoulder. "Remember when we was green, Dread?" Eldred scoffs. "I don't remember bein' young, Farn. Much less green." The door to the tavern opens and there's a muttering of silences that passes through the crowded common room. Not that most would notice, but when you choose to hang your hat and spurs in a warren, you get to know the rats. "New sort," Farn mentions. Eldred glances up to the clouded and cracked mirror behind the bar and spies the newcomer. Interestin' The gunslinger glances to his left, a youngish looking soldier halfway into his cups is seated in the stool. "Make a hole..." The soldier looks at Eldred once and makes to reply, but stops when the gunslinger hold up a hand. "Fresh ale will be in your gap if ya take a walk now." Eldred nods to Farn to make it happen. The soldier scoots off his stool and wabbles over a few seats. In a few moments a fresh tankard arrives. When the newcomer strides to the bar, Eldred motions to the vacant stool next to him. "Evenin', sir. What brings ya to Cheapside?" He takes in Teldas via the mirror and offers a grin made unnerving by the scar running down the left side of his face. Noting the commoner clothing, Eldred continues. "How may I be of service?"
good to hear we're still playing. I'll try and get a post up today
DM Brimleydower:
Okay, finally getting this committed to the site. Thought I’d lay out a few basic rolls for Eldred as he goes about his business. He’ll assist with subduing the insanity plagued folks in the city, then return to his duties as an instructor in the Fusiliers training yards. But in his off time, he’ll begin the search for Leovarde, this changeling (or whatever) in the city. While Eldred doesn’t hold out hope he’ll find him, he may be able to have a look at the saboteur's backtrail. If he can manage it, the gunslinger will attempt to get a description of the Leovarde persona, something he can get committed to a drawing. Then, he’ll see if the face - not the name - is familiar around town. His hope is that if this is a changeling, then perhaps they borrowed a face that could pass for an engineer in the Wastwares. Eldred will look in his usual haunts:
➛ Next, searching closer to home in the Foundry. The idea being that this changeling may have assumed the identity of the real Leovarde. Here’s the rolls for that angle...
➛ Next, work through official channels. In the Molthune military, there’s one thing that’s as frequent as a gunshot and that’s forms. Access to the Foundry is tight, perhaps there’s an angle there on how they were able to get access. They may have assumed the guise of someone who has access, then reverted to their Leovarde persona. And the rolls for these…
➛ In all three locations and around town, find out if there’s word of folks going missing prior to the night of the invasion
At any rate, something that will occupy his time. The last thing Eldred needs is to be left alone with his thoughts. Let me know if this works. My write up below is just some flavor to the overall goals I outlined above.
Sergeant Major Leonid Keppish didn’t normally visit the establishments of Cheapside, but on rare occasions his desire for Cettigne tobacco allows the argument for such visitations to be accepted. The older Molthune soldier stares through the haze of tobacco smoke at the hard planes and scars of Corporal Eldred Pentwert. ”I wonder, comrade,” He says, leaning forward in his chair to grab hold of a tankard and sip at mulled cider. ”I wonder if gaining this leaf is worth having to look at your scowling face all evening.” ”Can’t say as that steaming pile of gobber-scat you’re wearin’s any better, Sarge.” Eldred replies and rolls a cigarette to replace the one he’d just finished. ”But give me a few more drinks, you’re lookin’ better all tha time.” The gunslinger looks around the Faded Glory tavern and thinks on the past few nights of searching. Sure there were probably spellslingers more suited for the task, able to flip through their books and scrolls, but Eldred doesn’t trust that sort of thing when some good old fashioned legwork can do the job just as well. Besides, it gave him the opportunity to filter through some of his street contacts and really see the impact of the invasion and feed some information up the chain to get added support for some of the deserving locals. ”Not to be a man of low expectations,” Keppish begins, waving his pipe so that the smoky haze is a fog at their table. ”...but I’m not holding out hope for information here. The patrons are, shall we say, not ones I’d see frequenting the new route to the Foundry, much less gaining access.” ”You’d be surprised. This little dive was one ol’ Rud pointed my beak towards a few months ago. How else do ya think I knew about the tabacc?” The bartender, an oversized human with the unfortunate moniker of Outhouse, lumbers over and shakes his head. ”Sorry, Dread. Got nuthin’ fer ya. But I tolds ya as much didn’t I? Face don’t spark a thought, nor tha name.” He places a folded piece of parchment on the bartop and slides it over...well attempts to slide it over but fails when it sticks to the sodden wood. ”But Bedlam wants a chance ta win back tha marks ya took ‘em for last month.” ”Forget it. Ain’t been paid yet.” Suit yer self, Dread. They’re drinkin’ up tha swill now..” He stumps away and pounds a meaty fist on the bar to wake up a half-orc who’d fallen asleep in his cups. ”Geddup ya green bastard! Drink ‘r leave!” And there he was. Eldred harrumphs and leans on the bar, stuffing the rough drawing away and taking a sip of his drink. ”Course when Bedlam gets a drinkin’, there’s coin ta be had…” ”Not wise, comrade.” Keppish takes another puff of his pipe then taps his jacket at the breast where he keeps his money. ”I’m not in the market for losing coin, just the time I’m spending here with you looking for a ghost.” ”Night’s young, bub. We’re just gettin’ started.” He lays out a few coppers to pay for their drinks and pushes away from the bar. ”Figure we got a few more here in Cheapside we can bother before you have ta go home and iron yer undies. ‘Sides, I may not know where this clown went off to, but if we can get a whiff of his backtrail, maybe we can find out where he began.” ”I already told you, Dread. I think it’s a demon from Alkenstar here to give old Rud the what for…” He chuckles a bit, however it isn’t a true mirth when the man considers the number of soldiers lost in his command. ”Demon, monster, con-man, doesn't make a difference ta me.” Eldred stretches his back, still feeling the nerves firing painfully since his encounter with the battle sphere in Rud’s. ”Whatever it is, a bullet will send it to its maker just fine.”
Sorry, been swamped lately. For Eldred, he'll spend a good portion of the day in the training yards. But he doesn't sleep much, so he'll want to hit the local taverns and see about this 'changeling'. For Eldred, any attack begins with a little recon and taverns are a great place to learn about a city. Maybe this baddie did some of his own while in the guise. I'll write up something soon.
Buncha tom-foolery if ya ask me... Heh heh Just kidding, that actually sounds like a great character development platform. I can see the risk of "power gaming" the character into some awesome stuff, but the drawbacks of the obedience(s) come pretty close to moderating that aspect. ---- For Eldred, I think I'll stick with his regular progression. I like the archtypes, and was briefly toying with the idea of a swashbuckler, but that just means I couldn't keep him surly. I just can't have that :) But I'll throw it out there to the group, have you guys seen any archtypes/progressions for gunslingers that turn up the awesome? ----- As far as what to do next, Eldred would rather go hunting, but he's not going to go foolishly on a blind search. He can bide his time and gather information until the hunt is assured to succeed. For the time being he'll assist Vincent in clearing out the crazy folk...although, I don't think they've created beanbag rounds for pistols yet, right? Mr. Brimleydower: Any such thing for subdual rounds in this universe?
Eldred finds himself unfortunately agreeing with the demon-spawn. "Can't say this menagerie you got runnin' here gives me a case of the warm and fuzzies, old man. But huntin', yeah that's something I can do. If ya got a name and face fer this traitor, I'm put some lead in his diet." He let's the blunderbuss slip from his shoulder and plants it butt first on the deck. "I borrowed some gear from yer stores, I can leave it here with ya or take it back to that vault...but the doors busted." He makes to unbuckle the quick draw holster too. "Course if a huntin' we will go, I could be persuaded to hold on to it, mebbe switch out the bussy for that musket if you're feelin' generous."
Eldred slips a glance toward the demon-spawn, daring him to touch him again. Emissary or what-not, ya touch me again ya devil-humpin' monstrosity, I'll add an eye ta that red forehead of yours. He starts speaking before his eyes leave Rutilus. "Easy, ya old lead-flinger." The gunslinger turns his attention forward and steps easy to the front of the group next to Teldas. He draws his hat brim back and grins his "dreadful grin" as Frig used to call it. "Friendlies, Rud, friendlies. Corporal Eldred Pentwert, 2nd Regiment Fusiliers, at your service." He keeps his hands raises chest level and palms out. "Mind lowerin' whatever in the pits o' hades ya got pointing at us? Like the Field Squire says, we're trying to figure what's got a hold of the city." Did the thought cross your mind that Old Rud's with these lunatic machines? Frig asks in the back of his mind. Yup. Ya think I'm so old I can't draw ol' Lia quick as a jackrabbit? You've seen how fast the old man is, he's got iron - or whatever that thing is - pointed right down your gullet. Eldred holds his peace and awaits Rud's response. But in the dark recesses of his mind he hopes the old man hadn't forgotten him. Else, the gunslinger won't be around to see the others die...it'll be a race between himself and Samson as to who gets the sky light installed in their heads first.
OK, Eldred's updated.
Wow, or if action a few days and I come back to see I'm 3rd level. Wundebar! I'll get to work on the upgrades. For the HP, I'll go half +1 too. Thanks!
"Understood, sir," Eldred responds, shouldering the blunderbuss and stepping back to stand alongside Zell red hand the demon-spawn. He works his back where the nerves along his spine pinch and fire at random intervals. "Nathmir, if yer god will take a shine to it, ya think he could spare a bit of healing in this direction? I'd like to be ready for this next fracas."
Eldred reloads the blunderbuss and nods agreement. "Yup, why not?" He puts the butt of the weapon to his shoulder, barrel canted downward and moves forward.
Eldred grinds his teeth amid seeing pain along the nerves of his spine. He hears Vincent's roar to continue the fight as a distant thing. But he holds onto his words and focuses his will on surviving fir just a few more seconds... A gunslinger aims with his eye.. His eyes grow cold, seeing the battlefield before him, seeing Zeltresh rain fire up on the contraption, seeing the metal beast's tail coiling for another strike...seeing the demonspawn's acid damaging the undercarriage... Eldred sets off at a run, Rud's blunderbuss filling his hands as he charges into the fray. A gunslinger shoots with his heart... He dodges between the others, boots grabbing purchase on the ice-slick catwalk. C'mon, old man. Get yer hoop movin'... His coat flies behind him like a hawk's wings as he dives feet first to slide, his momentum carrying him beneath the mechanical monstrosity. A gunslinger kills with his heart... The flared barrel of his rifle comes up and he squeezes the trigger. It bucks in his grip, the gun alive with fire and lead as it threatens to jump from his hands. Eldred looses a battle yell as he slides out the other side. ■□■□■□■□■□■□■
Please apply Hero Point to Acrobatics Check
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■ ...Critical Threat!!
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Eldred's left hand hovers near the blunderbuss, but his doubts on how the scatter could riddle his comrades with lead shot halts the move to bring up the weapon. Instead, hos hands fly thru the ritual of reloading his pistol as he sends another bullet downrange. Feeling the surge of healing in his veins, the gunslinger sucks in fresh air. "Thanks, Adurus..." But seeing his bullet graze the metal monster's hide raises a curse to his lips.
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