Ethaniel Tessarin's page

Ethaniel sighs as he sees his associates and fellow Forsaken draw a card, one after the other. First the lord, then the rogue, and then the madman and the revolutionary. Be it pride or trust in themselves or in their destiny, or even a spur of the moment, they accept to take the risk in exchange for the promise of power, yet not the certainty of it. Still, the magus himself is tempted as well. Despite what he has already learned about his most prized possession and what he has gained because of that knowledge, the lure of greater power still is undeniable. The man he was would never risk all with the hope of gaining more than he already had. But the man he is now, the man he is becoming? The man whose... "friends" are vampires and killers and madmen, men that would perhaps perceive his refusal to take the same chance as they have taken as weakness or cowardice?

"So be it," he says simply, softly, as he steps forward and draws a card with his right hand, his left hand gripping Crimson Eclipse's hilt tightly as if looking for strength and steadiness there.

1d6 ⇒ 2
1d9 ⇒ 4

Overwhelmed by the visions he has just witnessed, Ethaniel remains seated for a few more moments, his eyes fixed on the sword as if seeing it for the first time. Then, raising his head to look at the woman in front of him, he nods. "Thank you, Irin," he says, his gratitude entirely honest as he rises from his seat and almost reverently picks up his curved blade and places it in its scabbard. "That was most... educational."

As he moves to join the others of the Ninth Knot, his eyes meet Mikhail's, recognizing in the vampiric noble's gaze his own from when he had first laid eyes on the exotic weapon. There is envy in that gaze, envy and want. Still, he cannot fault the other man. "You may not have the weapon, Mikhail," the magus says softly after approaching his comrade and leader, "but you do have the next best thing. Its wielder."

That was... awesome!

Ethaniel is ambivalent. Not on the subject of whether he should ask for a reading or not; as far as that is concerned, he has finally decided. Two of his companions have received one and if they are to survive as a Knot, when the time comes to pay the price for these answers, the rest of them will be dragged into it anyway, at least as far as he can tell. The magus sighs and approaches the woman known to them as Irin.

"A question then," he says simply, his eyes looking into hers. Drawing his curved sword from its black and crimson scabbard, he studies it for a brief moment before he sets it down on the table, opposite her deck of cards. He then takes a seat, making a sweeping motion in front of him with his right hand to indicate the exotic weapon. "This is my question."

Much like Oswald, Ethaniel is overwhelmed as soon as he looks at the aura surrounding Irin's deck of cards, remaining stunned for a few moments, his eyes wide and fixed on the powerful item. He does regain his senses soon enough, however, and in time to witness the conversation between Mikhail and the strange woman. "It matters not whether any other chooses to ask a question now," he mutters softly mostly to himself, his tone impassive. "Now that our leader has chosen to do so, we are as much beholden to do as she asks when she asks as he is."

He does admit he is sorely tempted himself, his gaze turning to the curved sword resting in its scabbard by his left hip. He does opt to wait though, preferring to see Mikhail's exchange first.

Will: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5

Ethaniel joins the rest, his curved sword resting in its scabbard as he enters the room. The familiar incantation that enabled him to see arcane auras before comes to his lips once again, his eyes briefly glowing with a silvery blue light as the magic takes hold.

"Sometimes deviating from our path may prove wise, even helpful where our goals are concerned," he mutters softly, "or it may prove disastrous."

He waits patiently to hear the third choice about which Barnabas, ever perceptive, inquired, at the same time his eyes sweeping the room before coming to rest on the woman within it in search for any active magical effects.

Standard Action: Cast detect magic.
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24

Sword in hand, Ethaniel peers into the darkness, waiting for Barnabas to emerge. The cry of pain that comes from the rogue and its implications are not lost on him, yet the magus retains his more or less impassive expression, confident that the other man will find his way to the rest of them thanks to their directions. Looking to the side, he notices the wisps of blue light coming from Oswald's eyes, recognizing their meaning. With a shrug and a slight feeling of disapproval towards himself for not having thought of it as well, Ethaniel casts the simple spell that will allow him to discern magical auras around him and joins the doctor in his effort to glean some more information from the darkness.

Round 2, Initiative 14

Hit Points 21/21
Arcane Pool 4/4
AC 15/15T/10FF, CMD 19
Saves +4F/+2R/+4W

Standard Action: Cast detect magic.
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17

"I suppose we could simply walk straight ahead blindly until we bump into something," Ethaniel quips as he stares into the blackness in front of him. "Although perhaps Kaynen may have the right idea with burning our way through this particular challenge. Perhaps whatever the magical darkness is coming from is flammable."

Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (15) + 8 = 23
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21

"That went exceedingly well," Ethaniel acknowledges, though not without just a mere hint of disappointment at the lack of the challenge a fight against the golem was certain to be. Still, the man is no fool, nor is he one to prefer needless fighting to a clever plan and his continued survival. Taking one last look at the now fallen creation, the magus makes his way towards the alcove, joining Oswald in looking around, yet, like the good doctor, refrains from touching anything just yet.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17

With an expression of discomfort only the smell of rotting flesh can bring, Ethaniel follows the others' example, nodding at Mikhail with a smile in acknowledgment of his rather smart plan. "I am assuming a combination of Drisella's magic and another lock of your hair might do the trick and help lure the beetles out," the magus says to the vampiric noble. "Although if this becomes a trend, you might consider getting an actual haircut before long," he adds, perhaps a little too mirthfully considering the circumstances.

Round 1, Initiative 21

Hit Points 21/21
Arcane Pool 4/4
AC 15/15T/10FF, CMD 19
Saves +4F/+2R/+4W

Full-Round Action: Double move along with the others.

"If the wolf is indeed celestial in origin or at least possesses such traits, perhaps the combined powers of the circlet and the sigil would be able to fool it into not attacking us," Ethaniel proposes after seeing the scarab's reaction to Mikhail's undead nature and Oswald's poppet. "I am willing to give it a try myself," he adds, "but we should be ready for a fight if it does not work. Any objections?"

He looks to the de facto leader of the group, waiting for a reply, his usual crooked smile appearing on his face.

If there are no objections, Ethaniel will backtrack a little, exiting the room so as not to be visible by the wolf and activate his circlet, thus changing into his 'good' persona. Between his altered appearance and the masking and deceiving properties of the sigil, he reasons that he will be able to pass through the wolf's cell unharmed. At least, going by his assumption that the wolf is somehow of a good and/or celestial nature.

Shuddering somewhat at the sight of Kergh covered from head to toe by the little creatures, Ethaniel turns his attention towards the wolf one last time in an attempt to glean some clues behind the various auras surrounding the beast and the collar around its neck.

"Could it be that it is of celestial origin? That would explain the aura of good coming from it," the magus muses, his voice loud enough for the others to hear him. "And the abjuration magic coming from the collar, perhaps its purpose is to bind it here in this room. I wonder if it is also strong enough to prevent it from attacking us though..."

Here are some relevant roles, in case they are needed.

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11
Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (3) + 8 = 11
Knowledge (Planes): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

Ethaniel sighs and, still studying the wolf, mutters a brief incantation, at the same time passing his right hand in front of his eyes with a quick and graceful motion. As soon as the gesture ends, his view of his surroundings subtly changes and the magical can now more easily be differentiated from the mundane.

Standard Action: Cast detect magic.

Hand resting on his sheathed sword's pommel, Ethaniel follows Barnabas and the rest of them as they move from the first room to the second. "Bugs are usually not all that dangerous, dear Kergh, yes," the magus remarks, "but there are so very many of them. Enough to cover us from head to toe, I would wager, just as they cover the floor beneath them." He pauses in thought for a moment, then looks to the others and adds pointedly, "If there is indeed a floor beneath them..."

"It seems that pointless conflict is not approved," he continues as his eyes turn to look at the pale wolf, his gaze not faltering even as the wolf fixes its own eyes on him. "But what if in this case it is not pointless? Or what if conflict with the beast is not even necessary, provided we had something to offer it, such as food?"

"Just thoughts and ideas," he concludes with a shrug before approaching the wolf's cell so as to get a better look at the creature inside.

As he moves along with the others to start what is to be their greatest trial, at least so far, Ethaniel's mind travels back to the last three months. They had certainly been an interesting three months, there was no doubt about that. Of course, interesting does not necessarily mean pleasant or fun. But challenging and dangerous? Yes. Life threatening? Certainly.

The first and simplest of the tests, or rather attacks, had involved Tiadora and a rather large and sharp axe. Despite his fatigue at the time, he had managed to deflect the blow. But that was only the first of many challenges. The second had involved a servant, or rather a mage posing as one, as a mere slave would hardly have been able to conjure a handful of force orbs and send them against the magus, who once again proved quick enough to put up a shield of force to protect himself. And so it went, day after day and challenge after challenge, until Ethaniel started to learn to anticipate the attacks and on more than one occasion went on the offensive before his opponent of the day did.

Still, even after many such events, he could not have expected to find himself against a simulacrum of his new false identity, the one his magical circlet would change him into. Now that duel had been truly challenging. His other self, whatever it was, was an almost perfect foil for him, matching him in speed and skill with sword and spell almost entirely. Almost... In the end, Ethaniel emerged victorious, albeit as close to death as he had ever been. Still, he had prevailed and that was all that mattered. And just as it had happened with all the previous tests, his victory made him just a little better than before, just a little faster and stronger and more powerful.

With a sigh, the magus comes back to the present just as Barnabas starts to examine the room and Mikhail finishes his speech.

Trying on the circlet as well, Ethaniel turns to look at the mirror, his expression one of curiosity as his changed form looks back at him. He finds that his face is not all that different, perhaps a little less angular and slightly fuller, yet his shoulder-length hair is now a somewhat dark brown color while his purple eyes, supposedly a mark of his Azlanti heritage, have turned hazel. As he continues to study this other self of his, he notes that he shows a preference towards clothes of a lighter hue and he does not disdain the use of armor, if the finely made silvery chain shirt he has on is any indication. Even his spellbook seems to have changed, now a tome of deep blue and silver instead of black and crimson.

But what catches his eye the most is his doppelganger's weapon of choice. Rather than his curved black sword, there is sheathed in its stead a steel longsword, certainly of fine workmanship but otherwise unremarkable.

"So, this could have been me, I take it?" He speaks the thought allowed, his lips curling into his familiar crooked smile. And his other self follows suit, only that smile is even, sincere, full of warmth.

And if I may say something regarding Drisella? Ahem...

Bwahahahahahahahahaha!!!!!!! :-)

27 Calistril 4713

Regaining his composure after waking up, Ethaniel takes a quick bath and dresses in his soldier's clothes before securing sword and scabbard by his left hip. The dagger he fastens to another of the belt's loops at the small of his back. And then he sits down, waiting and wondering what the day will bring. He does not have to wait long, for soon enough there is a knock on his door. Rising, he reaches for his black hooded cloak, the Sigil of the Ninth serving as its clasp, and proceeds to open the door and move to the hallway outside.

There is a servant -or rather, a slave- just outside his room carrying a silver serving platter and on it rests a book bound in black leather with a black quill and a silver lock, as well as a black leather pouch and several scrolls of parchment. At the sight, Ethaniel's crooked smile readily appears on his face. He takes a few moments to look through the scrolls, noting with a look of approval that they contain the spells he asked for. He then proceeds to take the pouch, opening it to look at its contents before tying it on his belt by his right hip, opposite his sword. And finally, the spellbook. He does not take it from the platter immediately, allowing himself a few seconds to run his fingers over the leather and the crimson pentagram inscribed into its front cover before removing it and the accompanying quill and waving the servant away.

With both his blade and his book in his possession now, he finally feels complete. "This training will be difficult, deadly even," he hears Mikhail say to him and the rest of the so-called Forsaken, now the Ninth Knot of Asmodeus. "Good," he mutters softly, the smile not leaving his face. Difficult, deadly... Words that should make someone hesitate and falter only serve to entice him, to make him even more interested in the challenge that awaits him and the others.

27 Calistril 4713

Ethaniel wakes up, sweat glistening on his body. Immediately he reaches for his sword, the weapon as usual close by. "Good," he mutters to himself, at the same time taking note of the covers in a heap on the floor. It was not a particularly peacful sleep, but there was a reason for that, was there not? There was a dream... or was it a nightmare? The magus struggles with the memory, already fleeting, already being chased from his mind. He was alone in the dream and there was... No, that is not right. He was not quite alone... And where was he?

26 Calistril 4713, Night

The first thing he notices is that he is standing on a bridge. It has no beginning, no end. Or, even if it does, they are hidden behind the mist that seems to obscure both sides of it. How did he get here then? He must have walked. Through the mist. But where did he walk here from? And where was he going? Before he can think of an answer, the sound of distant thunder distracts him, makes him look up. But there is nothing above him, literally nothing. The sky, if he can call it that, is black. No stars, no moon, no light. Simply black, like no sky he had ever laid eyes on before. And then he looks down and he sees where the thunder came from. There are dark clouds below him; a storm is gathering, lightning already snaking among them.

"How?" He speaks the question aloud, not expecting an answer, simply wanting to hear the sound of his voice. Nevertheless, he gets one.

"Does it matter?" Ethaniel looks directly in front of him, not allowing his surprise to show. There is a shape in the mist, one he cannot quite make out. Yet the voice is familiar, recognizable. It is the voice that has so often spoken to him and him alone. "Tell me, why did you spare those people at the prison? They did not matter, they should not matter to you."

Taken aback, there is a momentary pause before he answers. "There was no point in killing them, no honor, no purpose. They were not warriors, they posed no challenge. They were just... servants, old and frail." No sooner has he finished speaking than he gets a retort. But this time the voice is unfamiliar and not quite so strong and coming from behind him. The tone is colored with disapproval. "Weakness. The answer is weakness." Turning, he notices another shape, somehow even more vague than the other one. There is a puzzled look on the magus' face; after all, up to now, there had only been the one voice.

"I see," the familiar voice speaks again. Not as disapproving as the other one, Ethaniel notes. "What about the prisoner then? You ended his life, yet he posed no challenge either. He may have been a warrior once, but now he was nothing."

Ah, Blackerly. "There was an understanding in place. I was to offer him a quick death in exchange for information he had," the magus answers. "A deal is a deal," he adds, using the same words as earlier in the sergeant's cell. "Deals, bargains...," the smaller, unfamiliar voice says, this time as if agreeing with him. "Such things should be upheld."

The familiar voice seems to pause, as if considering what has been said so far. And Ethaniel seizes the opportunity to speak again, his eyes turing from one speak to the other, though unable to see through the grey fog hiding them. "I know you?" The words are as much a question as they are a statement, depending on whom they are directed at.

"Yes, you do," the familiar voice replies first, the shape behind it starting to move towards Ethaniel, but not quite enough as to show itself. But enough for a curved black blade apparently held in its grasp to pierce the mist and become readily apparent to the magus, the weapon as recognizable and familiar as his own right arm.

"No, you do not," the unfamiliar voice says then, before whoever or whatever it belongs to starts moving farther away from him. But before it disappears completely within the fog, it speaks one last time. "But perhaps you will."

There is a moment of hesitation as Ethaniel finally decides to move, to go to the one that remained, the one carrying his sword. He walks towards him, but he covers no distance. He runs, but he seems unable to reach him. And then the stone beneath his feet cracks. The bridge shatters. He reaches into his mind for his magic, but there is no spell there that can save him.

He falls into the storm below him, the dark clouds and the crackling lightning rising to embrace him. And then... nothing.

Ethaniel pays close attention, remaining silent while Blackerly is talking. Once the man is finished, the magus turns to look at Kaynen, noticing the bard doing the same, a look of satisfaction on the other man's face. "A deal is a deal," he states simply as he moves to stand next to the former sergeant's left side, the broken man awaiting his reward for his cooperation. "Even our new associates would appreciate such a thing," he adds, referring to his statement.

Facing the opposite way than Blackerly and wthout saying anything else, Ethaniel draws his curved sword with his left hand in one fluid motion, the black blade almost drinking in what little light there is in the cell. Then, without turning and just as easily and quickly as he unsheathed the weapon, he pushes the sword to his left and down, its tip going through the man's back and neatly piercing his heart before coming out the other side and reaching the cold stone floor. There is a soft gasp as a breath of air carrying with it the faint scent of cigar smoke, his last such breath, escapes the sergeant's lips, the man still held up in his previous position by only the sword that has run him through. "There," he says simply as he pulls the weapon free, the act resulting in the now dead prisoner slumping to the ground as his head comes to rest on the cell floor.

Sheathing his sword once again, Ethaniel takes one last look at his previous jailer before he too exits the room. "Shall we?"

Not sure if needed, but here is a coup de grace just in case. If he manages to save against it, Ethaniel will pull his sword out of the man's body and just as quickly decapitate him after all before then exiting the room. I just hope it is not needed as I find simply running him through much more elegant. :-)

Coup de grace (masterwork katana): 2d8 + 6 ⇒ (6, 6) + 6 = 18
Fortitude DC 32

26 Calistril 4713 - Interrogation of Blackerly

Waiting patiently as the servant is sent to bring back some water and a cigar or some such as the sergeant turned prisoner requested, Ethaniel looks from Blackerly to Kaynen, his expression a silent question as to whether the bard's enchantment worked or not. 'Not that it matters now,' he ponders. 'The offer has been made. Now all that remains is what he has to say on the matter.'

As the slave returns, the magus cautions against approaching Blackerly too much. "We would not want Barnabas' little accident repeated," he adds with a shrug as an explanation. Perfectly obedient as expected, the slave takes care to hand over the water first, refilling the cup as needed at Ethaniel's instruction. Then, with thirst sated, he proceeds to carefully place the cigar between the man's lips before lighting it quickly and just as quickly stepping back and out of the cell, leaving the three men alone again.

"There," Ethaniel remarks as the broken man starts smoking, almost hungrily one might say. "Such a bad habit, but all things considered..."

"So, about my offer?" The question is asked almost conversationally, his voice calm and even.

26 Calistril 4713 - Meet the other Knot

As Mikhail takes it upon himself to introduce them to the other Knot and the woman leading them, Ethaniel notes that the vampiric noble is rather vague while doing so. Suppressing a smile, the magus instead takes this chance to focus his attention on those others, people he would call both allies and rivals at the same time. The white-haired woman and her fur-covered companion, as well as the bloated man, catch his attention the most, but whether or not he gleans anything about them from his observation, he does not share it at this time. He is, however, curious to listen to what their answer to Barnabas' question is going to be. They hardly look the part of being prisoners of some jail or other like his own companions and himself, though they themselves may no longer look like that anymore, courtesy of the Cardinal's "generosity".

Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (4) + 8 = 12
Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21

As they make their way to Blackerly's cell, Ethaniel turns to the smiling bard next to him. "You can make a person more open to seeing things our way, is that right? Well, I think it would be a good idea to put that magic to use before I make my proposal to the man. After all, considering what has been done to him, I doubt he will listen to what I have to say to him with an open mind, so to speak."

Once they finally reach the room where their former jailer is being held, the irony not lost on him, the magus pauses before opening the door, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts for the task of negotiating with a man who hates him and with just cause. Then, the moment gone, he breathes a soft sigh and opens the door, stepping inside and taking a good look at the pitiful man. "Greetings, Sergeant. I would have said good day, but there is no day for you now, is there? Only night," he says calmly, the tone behind his words not unkind. "I have come with a proposition, an... offer if you will."

He pauses then, but not to allow the prisoner to speak. Instead, he motions to Kaynen and waits for the bard to work his subtle magic. Once that is done, he continues, regardless of whether the magic takes hold or not.

"You know what awaits you. If you are lucky, death, but after considerable and unbearable torture, I am sure. If you are not, then something undoubtedly worse even than that," he sighs. He is not fond of the man, but he does not necessarily like what will probably be done to him. "This place is home to people and... well, not quite people that I would expect to not only be capable of such things, but rather talented at them." And then his next words are a simple statement. "You will talk."

"What I offer is simple enough," he says then, his tone perhaps slightly warmer. "Talk now. Speak the truth about who Ventris is and where he might be found and I will grant you the one thing that you could hope for under the circumstances."

"A quick death. Clean and painless."

I am assuming a Diplomacy check would be necessary here. :-)

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15

26 Calistril 4713

"It will take far less than that, Barnabas," Ethaniel reassures the man, "regardless of whether I succeed or not. But how will I know that he will be telling me the truth if he chooses to speak? Because my... way has a certain finality to it if he does answer my questions." He shrugs then. "Of course, if he does not talk after my little chat with him, you are free to try anything else you might have in mind."

"You are free to rescind your offer, by the way," the magus adds in a friendly enough tone. "I will not be offended."

If it is alright with you, AoM, I will wait a bit to see how the thing with Barnabas and Blackerly plays out before Ethaniel's dream. If, however, you want me to do both things in the same posts, tell me and I will be glad to accomodate you.

Ethaniel is in no hurry to get subjected to Zargo's examination, instead allowing the others to approach the dwarf first and waiting until he is one of the last remaining members of the group. As Drisella and Kaynen and Barnabas take turns talking and being more or less manhandled by the alchemist, the magus takes this chance to take a better look at the room, though he does make the effort to steer clear of the dying man, as he does feel some sadness and pity when he considers the poor soul's fate. He does not pay all that much attention to the others, though he is not oblivious to each Forsaken's different reactions when Zargo tries to not so gently extract what he needs. 'Blood, saliva and hair,' he ponders, at the same time looking around until he finds what he seeks. "Ah..."

Noticing that Mikhail too seems to prefer being one of the last, Ethaniel finally moves closer to the dwarf. "Now, let's take a look at y...," he starts in his gruff voice before abruptly stopping. "Huh?"

His usual crooked little smile on his lips once again, Ethaniel lifts his right hand to Zargo's eye level, three little glass vials resting on his palm. One contains a crimson liquid, the other a piece of wet gauze and the third a few strands of black hair. "Your laboratory is well stocked," he offers casually, "so it was hardly difficult to find what I needed."

As the alchemist takes the vials, muttering something undoubtedly unpleasant about Ethaniel's lineage, the magus sighs. "Unfortunately, we are not done though, are we? You have to take measurements," his words as much a question as a statement. "All I ask is that you be... professional about it. No... unnecessary roughness if you please?" His tone is conversational, polite even, though it does seem that for but a moment his eyes turn towards the sword sheathed by his left hip before they once again return to Zargo. Oddly enough, the smile is still there.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12

26 Calistril 4713

Ethaniel listens as Mikhail and Barnabas casually discuss the specifics of Mr. Pilkington's past with the man, taking in its somewhat sordid details with little surprise or even interest. After all, he hardly expects the people in this place he has found himself in to not have one or more skeletons in the proverbial closet.

'Mikhail is already starting to clothe himself with attire befitting his station, I see,' he muses, noting with approval that the vampire is not only considering looks where his armor is concerned, but practicality as well. As the other two men have shifted the conversation from Pilkington's personal history to the details of buying and selling equipment, the magus considers his own needs. He has his sword back, but his tome of spells, few that they were, and his pouch of components are long gone, taken from him as they were on the day of his apprehension. And although he has made do so far with spell components provided by the magic veil, they are almost at an end.

"I require a spellbook, Mr. Pilkington," he says finally when his turn is up, "and a full pouch of components needed for my spells. Nothing too exotic or expensive where the components are concerned, though the specifics will have to wait until I have a list of the scrolls I would need as well. After all, a book of spells without any of them inside it is not much use." He smiles before continuing, remembering also that he should take a better look at Richter's spellbook now that he has the luxury of time. "And of course some writing materials. I suspect I am going to need quite a few of those."

"And finally," he adds after a moment's thought, "a lock for securing the book. The best nonmagical lock you can find."

If you do not mind, I will include the Spellcraft checks (DC 16) for the four 1st-level spells from Richter's spellbook that Ethaniel will try to copy into his own. After all, the cost of writing those down depends on whether he is successful with the checks or not.

Spellcraft (expeditious retreat): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21
Spellcraft (feather fall): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
Spellcraft (magic missile): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24
Spellcraft (mount): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24

Nice! So, writing materials costing 40 gp it is (10 gp for each 1st-level spell).

Ethaniel raises an eyebrow at Barnabas' mention of bodily fluids, his expression one of amusement at the rogue's little jest. Taking his turn, he reads the contract, allowing himself a brief smirk as he reaches the word 'Bound'; the magus already considers himself bound to something and it to him. As he thinks for a moment on it, he eyes the silver ritual knife brought along with the platter and the quill. The crooked smile remains on his face as he approaches the set of items, but does not take up the small blade. Instead, he draws his sword from its scabbard just a little, enough though to reveal the black blade. Then, he runs his palm over the edge and makes a shallow cut, noting that, like before, the blood does not stay on the sword for more than a second or two before it vanishes as if it were never there, the weapon absorbing the crimson liquid, drinking it in.

Letting the curved sword to fall back in its scabbard, Ethaniel proceeds to squeeze his palm over the silver platter, allowing a few drops of blood to fall in, and then takes up the feather quill. A few moments later, he is done, his full name now on the contract. "Lemure, I believe? Interesting choice," he notices, his voice soft, "and fitting, I suppose." He then moves away, letting the next Forsaken -or is it Bound now?- take his place.

Knowledge (Planes): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18

As each of the others speaks, Ethaniel's eyes look to whoever does so. Barnabas' question gets an almost imperceptible nod as the magus is himself curious what it is exactly the Cardinal is asking of them. Kergh's answer is predictable, of course, but Drisella's, or rather her tone, is anything but. This is a new face she wears, at least as far as he is concerned, so much different from the strange or even frightened girl of hours ago, and her choice of dress certainly serves to complement that fact. His eyes narrow a little, as he considers that perhaps her pet is after all the lesser of the two evils. But as he ponders on it, Mikhail's speech -for what he says is as much as answer to Adrastus as it is a speech for the Forsaken's benefit- snaps him out of it. 'Over a century old and the true king of Talingarde, is it?' The warrior mage absorbs the information as best he can, putting it all aside for now as his turn to answer the Cardinal comes.

"Barnabas has it right more or less, as far as I too am concerned," Ethaniel says calmly, his tone matter-of-fact. Standing tall and with his left hand resting on his curved sword's pommel, he appears composed, unafraid. Ever the warrior, his eyes study both Tiadora and Adrastus. 'There is no choice here. No fight to be won, only lost,' he concludes.

"I am at your service," he states, before adding a few more words. "There is no other choice and there is no other place for me now."

As the Forsaken finally enter the manor house that apparently serves as their benefactor's abode, Ethaniel feels uneasy, as if he has just traded one prison for another, albeit one looking far more luxurious and comfortable. The woman's, Tiadora's, strange speech when addressing Drisella's pet does not help put him at ease, instead causing him to tighten his grip on his sword's hilt for a moment or two before he realizes he is doing it and relaxes. 'The woman is... wrong,' he thinks to himself, 'the place is wrong, even the slaves are somehow wrong. Too docile, too obedient, even for slaves.'

As they move through the house towards their rooms, the training room with its practice weapons and other assorted equipment catches the magus' eye. He cannot help but smile a little at the sight. After all, he has gone for so long without training, without wielding a sword and practicing his skill with it. This should help to get him back in fighting shape. At the thought of finally using Marvius' black sword, now finally his by right, even in practice, his smile widens. And when he reaches his room, his mood improves a little more.

"I could use some food and something to drink, yes," Ethaniel replies to the slave's question. "Thank you," he adds politely. "But first a bath and a shave, I think." The last words are directed more to himself than the slave as he tries the water before beginning to undress. He takes his time, enjoying his first hot bath in what seems like an eternity, and then shaves, having always preferred a clean look. All the while he keeps his sword within easy reach, even when he sits down to partake of the food and drink the slave returns with.

Once finished, he wears the clothes provided for him, appreciating both the look and the functionality of the uniform. And then he simply waits, his mind filled with curiosity about the people that have summoned him and the others here..

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (17) + 2 = 19

As the warrior mage speaks his mind to the slaver, no sooner does he pull his hand back from the man's shoulder than his eyes widen, fixed as they are on something in the distance. He opens his mouth to call to the others, but quickly closes it, once again composing himself, once again in control of his emotions and reactions. 'Noone sees him,' he realizes, but before his mind can process what he sees any further, the man in black is gone as suddenly as he appeared. And as he vanishes, he hears the voice, that so very familiar voice that has spoken only to him thus far, or at least so he believes. 'Very well then,' he answers in his own thoughs, the words directed as much to himself as to the one behind the whispers. 'Patience.'

With a sigh, he finds himself moving alongside the others through the moors, though perhaps a little lost in thought as he walks. At least until Barnabas approaches and speaks to him.

"And how will you know that when he does talk, it will be the truth? I am fairly certain a man would say anything to save himself from further suffering," Ethaniel asks in return. He thinks for a moment, allowing Barnabas the chance to answer. Regardless of the man's reply, however, the magus continues after his brief pause. "I am not a particularly diplomatic man. But I suppose it does not hurt to give it a try. I believe I do have something to offer him in return for his... cooperation."

"But," he adds in the end, "you should know I plan to keep my end of the bargain if he does agree to talk. I will give him what I will promise him."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17

"Well, I see torture has proven so very effective thus far," Ethaniel remarks drily, keeping whatever discomfort he may be feeling at Barnabas' attempt at surgery hidden behind wit and sarcasm. Moving a little closer towards the former slaver, the magus puts his hand on the other man's shoulder, though his eyes are still on the strange creature among them.

"Pull yourself together," he advises softly, his voice a whisper. "You have tried vinegar, perhaps you should give honey a chance? Though I am not quite sure what you could offer the man. Other than his freedom that is..."

He seems to pause for a moment, as if a thought came to his mind, or more precisely as if trying to better listen to something. "Or perhaps simply the illusion of it."

As the situation tenses up with Blackerly waking up and Barnabas bringing his knife ever so close to the other man's eye, so does Ethaniel, though it is not readily apparent. The prospect of torture does make the magus at the very least uncomfortable, despite the last few days and the sergeant's role in what he has endured. Still, he says nothing, at least for now. These are hardly the kind of people that would look kindly upon signs of compassion, especially towards their tormentor.

So Ethaniel does nothing to stop Barnabas, finding a confrontation with the man and the rest of his "companions" a most unwise course of action. Instead he focuses his attention on the girl's otherwordly pet, which seems to enjoy this unpleasantness. Almost absentmindedly, his hand moves ever so slightly closer to his sword's hilt, but he stops short of touching it, much less making a move to draw the black blade. Outwardly, he seems calm and controlled, yet inwardly he is already playing out a potential fight against the creature. Truth be told, between them all, even counting the ogre and the vampire, it is the one member of their disparate group too alien for him to trust for now. Or whatever passes for trust among them all.

With the fighting over and freedom at hand, Ethaniel is once again relaxed, his sword once again returned to its scabbard. He does not involve himself with the seemingly tense situation between Ariana and Mikhail, though he finds he is at least a little relieved that the whole thing ended well enough and without any further bloodshed. He had no love for the woman, but she was one of them, however briefly.

With that affair resolved and with Kaynen volunteering to help Mikhail in his attempt to chase down the fleeing guard, the magus joins the others about to make their way through the moors. Not really bothered by the stormy weather, he actually seems to welcome it if his smile is any indication, a smile that persists as he turns to look at Kergh and answer his question.

"Now? Well, now we go on a little walk, it would seem. Someone somewhere is looking forward to meeting us, or so Barnabas says. I suppose it would be rude not to take them up on that offer, if for no other reason than the fact that are choices at this time are... limited."

With a soft sigh, Ethaniel joins the others in disposing of the unconscious guards. As Mikhail and Kergh go about their deadly business, the magus moves closer to the last guard, the fallen man thankfully oblivious to his fate. Pausing for but a moment, he casually plunges his blade into the man's body, the latter's blood starting to pool under him as soon as he draws the curved sword back.

"We are done here," Ethaniel remarks matter-of-factly as the four guards on the floor are now dead or dying.

Round 2, Initiative 14

Hit Points 12/12
Arcane Pool 2/4
AC 14/14T/10FF, CMD 17
Saves +3F/+2R/+3W

Full-Round Action: Deliver a coup de grace to the remaining guard.
Coup de grace (masterwork katana): 2d8 + 6 ⇒ (7, 5) + 6 = 18
Guard Fortitude: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24 vs. DC 28

Moving silently, Ethaniel, black sword in hand, enters the gatehouse through the newly created window, courtesy of their benefactor's magical veil. As soon as he is through, the magus reaches into a pouch hanging from his belt and grabs hold of a handful of multicolored sand. Quickly uttering an incantation, he throws the sand in the air and in a fluid motion cuts through it with his sword, the weapon drawing a horizontal arc through it. Then the red, yellow and blue grains cease to be and in their stead there exists a veritable burst of color and light, overwhelming the guards' senses. Only one of them manages to stay focused enough as to withstand the magic's effect.

Round 1, Initiative 14

Hit Points 12/12
Arcane Pool 2/4
AC 14/14T/10FF, CMD 17
Saves +3F/+2R/+3W

Move Action: Enter gatehouse 2nd floor.
Standard Action: Cast color spray (DC 14).
Guard 3 Will: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (9) - 1 = 8
- Unconscious, blinded, stunned: 2d4 ⇒ (1, 3) = 4 rounds
- Blinded, stunned: 1d4 ⇒ 3 rounds
- Stunned: 1 = 1 round
Guard 4 Will: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (8) - 1 = 7
- Unconscious, blinded, stunned: 2d4 ⇒ (3, 4) = 7 rounds
- Blinded, stunned: 1d4 ⇒ 4 rounds
- Stunned: 1 = 1 round
Guard 5 Will: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (13) - 1 = 12
- Unconscious, blinded, stunned: 2d4 ⇒ (2, 2) = 4 rounds
- Blinded, stunned: 1d4 ⇒ 2 rounds
- Stunned: 1 = 1 round
Guard 6 Will: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (18) - 1 = 17

Since Ethaniel presumably enters before Mikhail due to initiative, I assume there is no risk of including one of the Forsaken in the area of effect. And I think it should hit all of the guards, but I am not sure. Please adjust as necessary, your DMness.

Ethaniel looks on with mild disinterest as the others bicker amongst themselves, refraining for a few moments from offering an opinion and prefering to allow the argument to run its course. Still, he finds that he should at least say something on the matter, if for no other reason than to show them that he too is a part of this grim fellowship the Forsaken seem to be forming.

"I see no harm in giving pursuing the guard a try, I suppose," he says with a shrug, his tone conversational. "If Mikhail and whoever else goes with him succeed, then all the better for us. And if not, I do not see it as all that harmful when all is said and done."

"But," he adds, "if there is to be a chance of catching up to him, now would be the time to go about chasing after him. Before any more time passes and the point becomes moot."

As Drisella enters, Ethaniel's eyes grow more than a little wide and his mouth hangs slightly open at the sight of the girl positively beaming with pride and yet more or less covered in blood. "What happened to...," the magus starts but as his eyes move from the young woman to the scene behind her and what remains of the Mitran priest, his half-spoken question is easily answered. "Oh," he mutters softly, his hand moving to rest on his sword's hilt almost absent-mindedly and his gaze resting once again on Drisella briefly before turning to her... pet, for lack of a more appropriate term.

His eyes narrow for a moment, but then he considers not only his rather unusual present circumstances and companions, but his own history as well. He looks at the curved sword sheathed next to his hip and smiles a thin and mirthless little smile. 'As if I am without my own voices and whispers in the dark,' he ponders before moving closer to Drisella. "May I see these?"

As he examines the piece of parchment and the wand of ivory carefully, Ethaniel uses both sight and touch in an attempt to discern their properties. Finally, he shares his findings with the others. "This scroll contains a spell that protects against creatures of chaos, regardless of whether they are good or evil," he says with a shrug before continuing. "And this wand can be used to heal simple wounds, though much of its power has already been spent."

Spellcraft (Celestial scroll): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22
Spellcraft (Ivory wand): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24

Ethaniel looks on as Barnabas tries to stabilize the man responsible for much of their suffering during their time in Branderscar, his expression more or less impassive. "You seem quite interested in these... things, if you are trying your best to revive him," he notes off-handedly, not really an accusation rather than an observation really.

Noticing Kaynen wiping the blood off of his sword, he takes a look at his own, thinking to do the same. However, the blade looks as pristine as it did before all the fighting started. Not a drop of crimson mars its black surface, yet seconds ago it was almost dripping with blood. "Hmm," he mutters to himself with a look of both curiosity and interest before sheathing the weapon in its scabbard, now resting comfortably by his left hip.

"Are we done here? Let us bind the one who has surrendered and put him with the others," he suggests. "And then let us be off. If the mage's pet has gone about its task despite its master's death, reinforcements should be here sooner or later."

Unlike Kaynen and his banter or even Barnabas and his threats against Blackerly, Ethaniel utters not a word as he quickly moves to support the other two men attacking the sergeant. After all, if the leader falls, the rest of the guards are bound to lose some of their morale. His newly retrieved sword, already put to use against one man, is brought to bear against another as it moves in a horizontal slash and finds its mark, scoring one more bleeding wound on the officer's body.

Round 2, Initiative 11

Hit Points 12/12
Arcane Pool 2/4
AC 14/14T/10FF, CMD 17
Saves +3F/+2R/+3W

Location: Warden's Tower, 1st Floor.
Standard Action: Attack Sergeant Tomas Blackerly.
Melee attack (+1 katana): 1d20 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 5 + 1 = 17, +2 if flanking
Damage (slashing): 1d8 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 4 + 1 = 7

Following Barnabas down the stairs leading to the tower's first floor, Ethaniel repeats the ritual from before as he once again passes his hand over the curved sword, the weapon's black blade appearing to absorb the arcane energy emanating from the magus and becoming sharper somehow. Then he proceeds to take position next to the door, on the opposite side than the one the rogue stands and waits. There is a simple nod to the other man as Ethaniel braces for the inevitable fight. "This is it," he whispers, as much to himself and the rogue in front of him as to the blade held firmly in his grasp.

Round 1, Initiative 11

Hit Points 12/12
Arcane Pool 2/4
AC 14/14T/10FF, CMD 17
Saves +3F/+2R/+3W

Location: Warden's Tower, 1st Floor.
Swift Action: Expend 1 point from arcane pool to grant the masterwork katana a +1 enhancement bonus for 1 minute (10 rounds).
Standard Action: Ready action to attack the first person to enter the building.

As a plan is discussed and preparations are made, Ethaniel smiles a crooked little smile as he brandishes his sword, almost as if he is testing it. "It would seem you are to be put to purpose soon enough," he says softly, anticipation clearly evident in his voice as his wound from not too long ago is all but forgotten.

He then turns to look at the rest of them, the Forsaken. Criminals and madmen and monsters, each word fitting some of them better than the others. Still, his lot seems to be with them. He was imprisoned alongside them and he was to be executed, again alongside them. And now? Now he is escaping with them. 'Life has certainly got very complicated very quickly,' he thinks to himself. "I do so hope it keeps on going though, complicated or not," he mutters, finishing the thought out loud.

Ethaniel starts reading through his file, questions arising as he does so. 'Not as detailed as I expected,' he ponders, 'and no mention of how the inquisitor knew to expect me right outside the tomb.' There is a look of curiosity on his face as he thinks things through. "I was careful, I know I was," he mutters softly as if thinking out loud, "and it is not like Talingarde is filled with inquisitors."

"Hmm." As the rest finish reading through their files and start to make their way upstairs, the magus follows them closely, taking care to keep his record, tucking it in his belt. After all, it might come in useful later on. No matter how interesting its contents, however, they are all but forgotten as soon as he finally enters the warden's quarters, his eyes quickly moving to rest on the second of the two work tables and widening at the sight of what is found on it. Everything else is ignored, everything else is so trivial compared to it. The sword, his sword.

Quickly he makes his way to it, hesitating for but a moment before reaching to take hold of it, the hilt's soft black leather and then the weapon's weight and balance as he holds it parallel to the floor feeling so very familiar in his grasp. He cannot supress a smile as he closes his eyes in contentment. "Ah, my right arm is complete again," he proclaims softly, his voice almost a whisper.

As the others seem to busy themselves with talking to the strange girl, Ethaniel continues to move through the library a while longer, picking up this book and that but ultimately finding nothing of particular interest. With that task finished, at least for now, the magus moves to the warden's body, his more academic interests in things arcane taking hold as he notices the scrolls. Unfolding one after the other, he begins trying to read through them and decipher them, concentration quite evident in his expression as he does so.

"This one," he finally says after a few moments, "has a spell on it that can put a foe to sleep, while the incantation on this one causes orbs of force to shoot forth from one's hand and strike unerringly at a target. And this third one involves hypnotizing one or more people when cast against them." He then holds aloft the fourth scroll. "I am not able to read this one, however." He pauses briefly. "As far as using them, without a spellbook we can only use them once and then they are gone. And I am only able to cast from the one with the force spell. The others are... not of my particular expertise."

Finally, he turns to get a better look at the girl, though his eyes linger more on the pet rather than its master, trying to see if he can discern anything about it. "And I am Ethaniel. I admit I was not expecting to find someone like you in here, seeing as this is a place for people who have done... questionable things."

"But, then again," he continues as a crooked little smile forms on his lips, "that is no puppy you have with you."

Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (7) + 7 = 14
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
Knowledge (Planes): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (3) + 7 = 10

With the fire finally extinguished and the warden defeated, if not dead, Ethaniel finds he can relax a little, at least as much as it is permitted considering the circumstances, not to mention the new arrivals. Keeping his eyes on the girl and her 'companion', the magus moves to retrieve his dagger from where it lay on the floor.

"And you are?" He asks simply, perhaps a little wearily, as he addresses the strange pair. Seeing as how they do not appear hostile, however, Ethaniel starts to move about, getting a better look of the library they find themselves in. Despite looking preoccupied with the various tomes surrounding the group, his thoughts linger on what he can only call a vision of the sword he seeks, his sword, from only minutes ago, before they entered the tower. 'Could it be close by after all?'

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15

Ethaniel turns his attention to the fire that has started to spread in the library. Quickly taking off his guard's cloak, he uses it to try to put out the flames before it is too late. He seems to be doing quite well at his task, though for a moment it appears as if he is danger of getting burnt along with the books. Still, he manages to avoid it, whether through skill or luck nobody can tell. Absorbed as he is in his attempt, he seemingly fails to take any notice of neither the girl nor the strange creature that accompanies her.

Round 3, Initiative 17

Hit Points 5/12
Arcane Pool 3/4
AC 13/13T/10FF, CMD 16
Saves +3F/+2R/+3W

Move Action: Move close to the fire.
Standard Action: Attempt to put it out.
Touch attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23
Reflex: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7, +4 (Villain Point)

Having said his piece, Ethaniel turns around and moves to engage the wizard's pet, bringing his now enchanted dagger to bear against the seemingly intangible elemental creature.

Round 2, Initiative 17

Hit Points 5/12
Arcane Pool 3/4
AC 13/13T/10FF, CMD 16
Saves +3F/+2R/+3W

Move Action: Move within melee range of the air elemental.
Standard Action: Attack the air elemental.
Melee attack (+1 dagger): 1d20 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 4 + 1 = 18, +2 if flanking
Damage (slashing): 1d4 + 4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 4 + 1 = 7

As the Warden's eyes close and the old man looks as if being held up by Mikhail's strong grip alone, Ethaniel takes his dagger out of the mage's body and his eyes turn to the vampiric Forsaken.

"Do not let him die yet," he says in a level tone, no actual compassion behind the words. "He may know where my sword is."

Ethaniel's actions in Round 2 depend on whether the air elemental persists now that the mage is dying or not.

Taking a moment before pressing the advantage Mikhail has offered him, Ethaniel concentrates as he passes his open palm over the small blade in his hand. As he does so, there is a brief glow emanating from his hand and then from the dagger before it vanishes, the weapon's edge looking now sharper somehow.

As soon as the brief ritual is over, the magus moves with purpose closing the distance to the elderly mage, the real one grappled by his vampiric fellow Forsaken, and plunges the dagger in the man's stomach. Thw wound, however, is far from deadly, owing probably to the man's magical protections.

"Now, concentrate on the wizard while we have the advantage," he calls out to the rest of them, urging them to ignore the pet and focus on its master.

Round 1, Initiative 17

Hit Points 5/12
Arcane Pool 3/4
AC 13/13T/10FF, CMD 16
Saves +3F/+2R/+3W

Swift Action: Expend 1 point from arcane pool to grant the dagger a +1 enhancement bonus for 1 minute.
Move Action: Move within melee range of the Warden.
Standard Action: Attack the Warden.
Melee attack (+1 dagger): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17
Damage (piercing): 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5

Since Ethaniel acts before Kaynen, I have not included the +1 to attack and damage granted by the bard's Inspire Courage.

Ethaniel seems to freeze for a moment as a bolt of lightning illuminates the sky for an instant. His eyes grow wide with shock as his gaze becomes fixed on the dagger held in his hand. "What...?" The single word is muttered under his breath, the look of surprise fading as he once again turns his attention to the matter at hand.

Regardless, his focus is shaken for a while longer, failing to notice anything out of the ordinary as they make their way to the tower and relying on the others' more perceptive senses.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

Despite all the killing, Ethaniel finds that he is rather content with their progress so far. After all, there were bound to be deaths once the decision to escape had been made. Still, that feeling of contentment quickly gives way to one of disgust as the hulking ogre starts moving towards the guard's body. Unwilling to be part of such savagery, even as a spectator, he follows Barnabas out of the room, nodding at the rogue's remark about going after the warden next.

"Let us take care of the one in charge as quickly as possible," he adds his voice to the rest, "and then we can worry about whatever guards may remain in the barracks or elsewhere."

Still, despite his apparent determination, there is a very particular doubt gnawing at him. 'Perhaps it is in the tower, in the warden's chambers? Or perhaps... perhaps it is not in Branderscar...'

His ears easily picking up both the sounds of battle, as well as Barnabas' shout, Ethaniel quickly makes his way to the kitchen. Once there though, he finds that the fight is over almost as quickly as it began, the guard falling beneath Kaynen's and Barnabas' deadly strikes.

"Well, you do not seem to require any assistance after all," the magus remarks simply.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22

Ethaniel looks at the fallen guard impassively. 'Kill or be killed, focus on that,' the magus thinks to himself. Without turning to look at him, he then addresses Oswald, keeping his previous thoughts to himself.

"How certain are you of this? Branderscar hardly seems the place one might find a child..."

Opting against trying to use his magic again, Ethaniel takes advantage of both the guard's newly inflicted wound, as well as the fact that the man's attention seems to be on the ogre. The magus moves quickly, trading caution for speed, and manages to bury his knife in the guard's back, bringing him even closer to his end but not quite there as the chain links manage to turn a killing blow into merely a wounding one.

Round 2, Initiative 11

Hit Points 5/12
Arcane Pool 4/4
AC 11/11T/8FF, CMD 16
Saves +3F/+2R/+3W

Full-Round Action: Charge attack against Gerald.
Charge attack (dagger): 1d20 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 3 + 2 = 24, +2 if flanking [Critical Threat]
Damage (piercing): 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4
Charge attack (dagger): 1d20 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 3 + 2 = 9, +2 if flanking [Critical Hit Confirmation]
Damage (piercing): 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7