Fenyx Dagannauth's page

I was hesitant to post this here, but this still remains the quickest way to reach most you in one post.

Some may recall my having mentioned many moons ago an intent to try and Frankenstein together a 2nd Edition AD&D hybrid. Predictably, I didn't cover much ground. I don't think D&D:N is going to be what it promised to be, which is a shame. Pathfinder remains fun, but less so with each passing day (I think it's simply too codified for my own tastes). So I'm going to green-light my initial idea to try and overhaul 2nd Edition's malformed chassis with some more modern themes.

I welcome insight from those with an understanding of AD&D 2nd Edition as well as those with an understanding of Pathfinder. New ideas are fine, but within a specific context. This is not a goal to design an entirely new game—the end result should still play like D&D, even if some pieces look different. That means Vancian spellcasters, Saving Throws, Str/Dex/Con/Int/Wis, alignments, and so on. I'm not looking to break any boundaries. Just trying to polish and update what's already there.

 
Here's the Google Sites link I've served up as a gathering point for ideas, development, and the like—complete with a horribly generic title: Dungeonfinder

Aye. If/when this gains more traction, I shall be eager and willing to resume.

Fenyx turns to Ar'Zarrcal and says, "Nothing loud. We should regroup and restock here, as much as we are able. Those of us fluent in the local tongue might best effect acquiring additional supplies, or exotic sundries if such a thing even exists here. In this matter, I defer to our host, Vuriel. His familiarity with the village should fare better than wandering the streets aimlessly ourselves. Let us also not forget that Rasso and Talavuc are nearby."

Allowing the house's warmth and his relaxed poise to ease much of his fatigue, the necromancer sighs somewhere between exhaustion and relief. "Ultimately, we'll need a plan to get ourselves into The Pale Tower. We could try the direct approach, certainly, though I'd like to explore more subtle options if we can muster it."

After being shown in, Fenyx assumes a position next to the table and window. He does not open nor part the curtains, though steals an occasional glance outside. Given the deepening night and further obscuring produced by snowfall, his sight avails him little. Vuriel's question hangs in the air and lingers there a moment. The elf did not trust them; not entirely. That much was made clear. Someone needed to bridge the gap. As well equipped as Fenyx might be as an installed ambassador from Xin-Shalast, prejudices could run infuriatingly deep for some people. The necromancer is loath to continue engaging the elf directly at present, concerned with the very real prospect of losing the only contact and ally they have yet to encounter in these ice damned lands. But there was hesitance among their number. Wariness and weariness both at play, Fenyx suspects.

"Fate and purpose drives us here. Each commands the crack of the whip at our backs... the nipping at our heels." Fenyx allows himself a bit of respite. Pressing his back against the wall, he slowly lowers himself to the floor, folding his legs beneath him and enjoying an opportunity to give the ache of his muscles a break.

"Though we have dispatched the troll on the other side, there remains much work and many more deserving of similar solutions on this side. Whoever holds the key to maintaining the portal that delivered us here must be dealt with, and the rift closed. The siabrae called Halak will need to be dealt with. There is... much that must be dealt with." The Shalasti man's pale, blue eyes remain firmly attached to those of Vuriel's. "You are no friend of those we oppose. Perhaps you will prove no friend of ours, either. Regardless, there stands before you an opportunity to pit your foes against one another, even where has abandoned you."

Fenyx removes his cowl and drywashes his face with several passes of both hands. "We seek the tower. That is what matters now. What comes after is not important without toppling The Pale."

Somehow missed that a new post was up. Definitely still interested. Will get a gameplay post up soon. Although, he doesn't seem to be Fenyx's biggest fan.

Yeah, if he's a siabrae he'll be a tough sumb#$$~.

We could give you a muumuu and a large hat and claim you are our sickly grandmother.

Don't have it, but it's self only. And it doesn't last terribly long.

Fenyx affords himself a small moment for consideration. His own garb currently marks him undeniably as a servant of Karzoug—as a citizen of Xin-Shalast. Fortunately, his very garments were tailored to suit many purposes.

Using the fallen bear cavalryman as a basis, the necromancer's garments change to something a little more Irriseni. While the dead ulfen's colors and heraldry no doubt marked him as a specific sort of soldier, they are trappings Fenyx elects to leave separate from his own change. He is now covered in thick and heavy looking furs and wools. Patchworks of brown and grey dominate his cloak, while beneath his cowl a sort of bandanna serves to conceal the sihedron that dominates his brow. Granted, such a change would do little to disguise his language, but he doubts he will be required to engage the locals. He hopes he will not be required to engage the locals.

The thought of abandoning Rasso while the rest enjoy some measure of comforts within the village seems... poor. He doesn't relish the thought of leaving any of their number truly alone in this place.

"Perhaps Talavuc should remain with Rasso for so long he is forced into such an isolation. She is familiar with such environs, being Erutaki. I do not think any of us remaining entirely alone is wise."

Gargamel!

Crusty has been going through some issues lately according to posts elsewhere, including a bout with food poisoning if I'm not mistaken. Can't speak for the other two, though, as I'm not in any other PbPs with 'em (that I'm aware of).

I honestly figured it was down to Rob or Mike for that last spot. And it looked like the latter stumbled a bit on this round (though overall had some pretty stellar submissions). Hopefully a lot of doors open for you regardless of the Superstar outcome, and I think they will. I'll echo some sentiments elsewhere in saying that of the four pitches, On Fertile Ground is the one that I would have most liked to play or run.

I did notice a lot of the (mostly non-judge) critiques seemed to be complaints about lack of mechanical or fully fleshed out plot points, which struck me as strange in a round about pitching an adventure. Then again, this is the first Superstar I've paid attention to, so maybe that's always the case.

Woot! Grats Rob!

Computer woes continue. Finally nailed down what is causing the problem, though: liquid cooling system has apparently given out. My CPU is not well pleased (nor am I).

Ordered a replacement, which I'm hoping will be here and subsequently installed by Tuesday. In the mean time, my presence will be less than stellar. Basically, it will only be when I can sneak in updates while at work for the next couple of days.

Fenyx checks himself before very audibly scoffing at the recently rescued elf's condemnation. He intends to ignore the ignorant remarks and allow Teladon to assuage the man's concerns, but Vuriel's tone deteriorates quickly. His eyes speak more accusation than his mouth as they circuit the expedition from Almas. As Rasso speaks, Fenyx ponders for a moment. He allows a brief pause before shaking his head at the merman's declaration.

"No, we are not men of Andoran. We are all men and women of Golarion. We are all of common purpose. Nationality, race, and creed are not important. The solidarity we represent is what matters." The necromancer gestures slowly in a wide sweep to indicate all present. "Ambassadors and champions are we. Xin-Shalast, Andoran, Cheliax, Belkzen, The Crown of the World, and the Mordant Spire; we are their answer to this eternal winter; servants and citizens of bitter enemies and feuds perpetual. Together we have joined in this, and together we have arrived here in the domain of witches."

Fenyx's eyes are cold and hard, but lacking any hint of malice. "Your life was forfeit, but for our intervention. If you wish to repay this act of unwarranted mercy with accusations and defiance—to brand your saviors as villains based on their nationality alone—such is your prerogative. Perhaps you might consider your situation a moment further, however. Perhaps you might look past your own shortsighted preconceptions long enough to recognize a potential ally in your midst. Whatever our past or current loyalties, all of us, we are unified in thwarting the devastation that seeks to swallow up this world we share. We will end the errant Jadwiga-Queen's machinations. Whether or not you are to play a part in our success is a question you should be asking yourself."

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Diplomacy Check: 1d20 + 9 + 1d6 ⇒ (8) + 9 + (1) = 18 (Spending a Mythic Surge to add 1d6 to the result)

I'll be working that angle on Fenyx when I get home. That post will be a bit too involved to hammer out from work, I'm afraid. Will probably sink a bit of mythic power into the check as well, as I think winning this guy over is probably extremely important in the immediate.

I think I'm squared away now. Took a trial-by-fire course in BIOS flashing, but got it back up. At work currently, but will be trying to play catchup asap (across all games).

Aye, assuming it's easily accessible I'll give it a listen. And to echo a bit, everyone here understands the hold up without complaint. It's an awesome opportunity and I hope all of the voters continue to realize what those in your current games are already well aware of.

Congrats on making it to Round Three, btw!

It certainly dwarfs the Imp-Hire of Cheliax (hurhurhur).

Ditto. Managed to blend aspects of two genres that are my faves. I am always surprised at the redundancies that crop up throughout these contests, though; out of hundreds of contestants (boiled down even further) it's odd seeing multiple people hitting on almost identical cords. I really liked the chimney troll and grymps in this round as well.

I'll be en route to work when it opens, sadly, but it gives me something to look forward to tonight.

But here's some tasty Clutch offerings whilst waiting.

Fenyx wordlessly approaches where Gwynn finds the map, though is forced to settle for studying the page from over Marcellano's shoulder. He is only slightly surprised by the cold emanating from the coat of ice and rime that now clings to the Chelaxian's frame. Adding nothing to Marcellano's correct assumption regarding where on the map they were likely located, he does, however, speak up about where Wintercrux lies.

"We are... far afield from whence we began. Cradled by the Kodar Mountains, if I am not mistaken. Even worse, without Irrisen lies few safehavens. Far enough west lies the Linnorm Kingdoms, who would as soon execute myself and Ar'Zarrcal as share words. To the east, the broken remains of the Kellid peoples. The borders are surely being watched at any rate. Let us away to this village if it is the only option to be had. Though, I must again insist that we restore to the waking life this elf. Without his vouching, I'm not sure the village remains a wise choice."

DC 15 Knowledge (Geography): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19
DC 20 Knowledge (Geography): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27

A glint of light in the suddenly exposed moon catches Fenyx's eye, dangling from Teladon's hand. Then comes an utterance he had not expected to hear, especially in such a place as this. His breath catches.

"That talisman; hand it to me!" Fenyx extends a hand in Teladon's direction, the gravity of the matter worn clearly in a mask of desperation on the necromancer's face.

"Our foes are more substantial than ever I imagined. This Halak is no mere druid—no mere man."

Fenyx tucks away an immense talon in the confines of his pack before rising from his crouch to survey what little of the area his still-human eyes can glean. The pair of orbs ultimately settle on the form of the fallen elf. Rejoining the ongoing debate, Fenyx gestures towards his limp form with an outstretched finger.

"I find it unlikely that one such as he is here alone. Bring him around and get some answers. If he belongs to a number, perhaps they will offer sanctuary for returning him still breathing. More importantly, maybe he can at least tell us where here is. Certainly we have some graces to avail an enemy of our enemy? A draught or supplication to mend his wounds enough to afford us answers."

The warmth of a village seems tempting, but Fenyx knows it to be foolish. Marcellano is, of course, correct. One look at them, even if neutral, would send peasantry scattering to the local guard. Best to assess the situation before taking action and then calculate a response accordingly. Some small means of shelter would perhaps be of great benefit in the interim.

"Are there no outcroppings or ravines that we might shelter in anywhere in the vicinity? I don't fancy the notion of remaining here overlong, either. And what of tracks? Might we determine which direction yielded the elf and rider's arrival here?"

Fenyx maintains a silent vigil as investigative efforts turn towards the fallen elf and bear cavalryman. He considers the slain forms of the three immense creatures they managed to overcome and is forced to admit how considerable their collective strength has become for such an obstacle to approach so near to the realm of triviality. While not a common sight in general, the appearance of a clutch of arctic owlbears is a rare treat. The material corner of his mind wonders at what value the pelts of these beasts might be worth, while the rest is dominated by considerations of what applications various parts of the owlbears might have as reagents and foci for various spells and dweomers.

Not wishing to waste the opportunity afforded him, he begins culling the creatures as the rest of their number begin tending to the fallen foe and possible elven ally. As he concludes the grisly affair, he remarks aloud to any willing to listen, "There is great worth in hides such as these if we've the time and a skilled hand. Given the injuries of our guests, setting camp nearby might not be so terrible an idea."

Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (20) + 11 = 31 Oh, ffs

Collecting a bit of blood, choice pristine feathers, and large talons.

Hoping to spare Teladon any further harm by way of the owlbear that continues to leverage its immense weight and strength against the elf, Fenyx withdraws the wand that has seen much use in the past couple of days. Extending the metal implement before him, he utters forcefully the words to summon what energies remained within—a dual blast of veridian energy capable of blasting away flesh and meat; cracking and bruising bone.

"Efulvati!"

As bidden, a pair of green orbs shimmer into being at the wand's tip before flying square into the owlbear's face, exploding violently into motes of energy where they impact the beast.

Yvonne continues struggling ineffectually against the thick snows that impede, the hilariously fastened snowshoes on the zombie's feet still helping little in the abomination's progress forward.

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Taking out his wand of magic missile (now down to 5 charges) and letting it rip against our favorite Owlbear designation.

Move Action: Retrieve wand.
Standard Action: Activate wand.
> magic missile: 2d4 + 2 ⇒ (4, 1) + 2 = 7

Pretty sure everything will be long dead before Yvonne makes it to a target, but Yvonne is moving to L15.

Will have a post up today, fo sho. Saw Rust on Steam, looked neat.

WV! Set records here the past week.

Seeing Rasso's form lumbering towards the owlbear Teladon now faces off against, Fenyx finds himself in agreement: their elven companion would need assistance against his adversary. Thinking to weave another debilitating spell against the creature, his mind begins wrapping itself around an altogether different solution. An intuition previously unheeded seethes to life and demands acknowledgment; ancient phrases and arcane gestures emerging from somewhere unknown, unbidden and unrelenting.

"એવો સમય લગભગ વધે
આ આગ ઉચ્ચ વૃદ્ધિ
આ ડોશી ઓફ સન
માંસ અને હાડકાના ઓગળે"

Such a spell the Necromancer has never wrought before, nor could he do so again upon command, and yet it manifests in defiance of such conventional notions. Wide, sweeping motions of arms are soon accompanied by a forceful thrust of his right hand, index and middle fingers pointed upwards with thumb outstretched. Torrents of heat hiss to life above Fenyx's head, gathering in strength until a blaze erupts and roars through the air to strike the owlbear locked in a struggle with Teladon. As the blast of fire slams into the creature's back, burning hair and sizzling flesh, a smaller mote of flame continues arcing further afield at the creature bearing (Sorry, couldn't resist) the weight of a rider. The flames impact and disperse about the creature's face in a swell of heat and pain.

Fenyx stares at his still-outstretched hand incredulously. Meanwhile, Yvonne continues trudging slowly through the snow, unimpressed by the necromancer's display of fiery ruin.
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Standard Action: Using Wild Surge to cast burning arc.
>Primary Target: Tom Cruise F16 Owlbear (Reflex Save DC 17 for half)
>>Burning Arc #1: 5d6 ⇒ (1, 4, 3, 2, 6) = 16
>Secondary Target: C13 Owlbear (Reflex Save DC 15 for half)
>>Burning Arc #2: 2d6 ⇒ (4, 4) = 8

Ending Location: N15

Yvonne Move Action: To L13.

I think I'll go ahead and grab up a +1 Int for Fenyx.

The F16 Owlbear still needs to make a save for the ray of enfeeblement I believe (Fortitude 17; 6 Str damage total or save for 3 total). Penalty wouldn't be enough to stop the successful attack on Teladon, but will save him a couple points of damage.

It looks like the owlbear rider/tamer is probably in Elvanna's corner, owing to the queen comment. The fact that there's a Kyonin elf is strange, though. Certainly want to ensure that the elf survives and see if we can find common purpose with him if nothing else. Probably wouldn't hurt to take the ulfen guy alive too, if possible. Assuming we aren't turned into mythic owlbear turds this time tomorrow.

Fenyx spares not a glance for the owlbear nearest to them. Seeing the form of Ordrud's back between he and the creature's path is all the reassurance he needs that his attention is best invested elsewhere. As he steps forward beyond the form of Ar'Zarrcal to stand beside Teladon, the necromancer begins withdrawing his the left sleeve of his robe up to the elbow, revealing once more the necrophidius tattoo that coils about the length of his forearm.

"Бул дос авторитет фарси пого: венеат."

It begins shedding a sickly, green glow, growing in strength until it begins scintillating brightly. In the span of scant seconds, the energies drain from the tattoo and into the waiting grasp of his right palm, coalescing into a writhing orb of necromantic energies awaiting the direction of he who commands it. Noting the elf's predicament, Fenyx prepares to give the man a fighting chance against his much larger foe.

"Венеат сега, и се откажува од вашиот каменолом, ѕвер."

As Fenyx's right hand lashes out, the energy takes on one more the form of the tattoo that birthed it—a skeletal serpent with a human skull at the fore, streaking across the air to impact the owlbear in one of it's enormous haunches. The poisonous veridian serpent disappears into the owlbear, washing the creature briefly in its dark energy.

Meanwhile, Yvonne begins trudging through the snow slowly but steadily towards the same owlbear.
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Free Action: directing Yvonne to charge the F16 Owlbear (Can't believe we're about to tangle with a fighter jet)
Move Action: to N15
Beginning Location: P14
Ending Location: N15
Standard Action: casting ray of enfeeblement on F16 owlbear
>Ranged Touch: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16
>>Strength Damage: 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6 (Fortitude Save, DC 17 for half)

Yvonne
>Attack (Charging): 1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 4 + 2 = 10
>>Damage: 1d6 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

Forgot to account for heavy snow at first. Yvonne will instead move to N13.

Y'know, in the confusion of all of this mythicness and portal hopping, I didn't stop to think of what happened to Yvonne.

Fenyx chooses to trust in Ordrud's observations. That Rasso and Teladon are of similar disposition only reinforces the notion. Keeping pace as best he can, the necromancer says quietly as they hustle along through the mounds of snow, "What madness do we chase at this juncture?" A hint of a smirk works its way onto his face as he awaits answer.

Assuming it's a module, then. I'd be interested. Let me know the details and I'll start slapping a character together.

That Perception is out of my ballpark currently. When a little closer, perhaps.

"It would appear," Fenyx begins dryly, "that we are not in Almas any more." Gaining his feet and dusting off clumps of snow from his robes, Fenyx turns his attention to his surroundings. It is too dark for his eyes to behold much of note. Snow. More snow in all directions. Unbroken or marred by the appearance of forest, mountain, or civilization. The sky affords little illumination to the landscape, so bereft is it of constellation to serve as guide. Only the undulation of energies within the spires surrounding the portal and the thrum of the portal itself deign to bless the sin mage with some limited stretch of vista. He would like very much, even now, to plant stakes and render the meticulous scrutiny the portal deserves—such a conduit along a current of ley-lines would earn him much infamy back in Xin-Shalast were he to document and publish his findings on the phenomenon. Unfortunately, even such pursuits as this are frivolous at best in the face of the path forward that demanded their attention.

The necromancer's eyes once more find the form of his dwarven companion and fellow ambassador. What had he seen; experienced? Were his visions the same? The curiosity and worry were beginning to gnaw at Fenyx's conscience. He had always thought Karzoug unassailable—a living legend for whom the limits of mortality and the possibility of defeat did not apply. His visions, however, painted different pictures—murals. Thousands of them beyond reckoning. Such an onslaught of possibilities could not help but have a profound effect on the man's own truths and views. Could he truly rise to such heights as to rival and surpass a Runelord? Then there were the visions of Fenyx garbed in whites and grays, holding a title of virtue mage. For so long, Lissala had been corrupted. Could such a transformation be unmade? Mended?

Mind racing and struggling to come to terms with what could be, Fenyx finds himself equally wondering at what should be. His eyes linger overlong on Ar'Zarrcal. Ar'Zarrcal? Could he be...? How ironic. Before him stands a repurposed Forgemaster, rune-scarred and twisted to the will of another. Just as the goddess whom the dwarf serves now had once been a being of purity—of virtues—twisted by the design of the Runelords of old, Ar'Zarrcal had once been another person entirely. Could he shed the shackles of his own corruption? Could he be the instrument of Lissala's cleansing? For the first time since having met him, Fenyx begins to wonder who the dour-faced dwarf had been prior to his binding to The Reclaimer's will. His wondering would not yield answers itself. Perhaps it was time to press the dwarf for answers directly.

Crunching and displacing snow announce Fenyx's approach, his strides coming to a stop just beside the shorter, squatter man. Leaning on his scythe, much as he always has since the unnatural winter has taken hold on the world, he allows several wisps of breath to kick up before he musters the words to break the awkward silence.

"During my transcendence, in that brief instant following The Rider's passing, I... saw a great many things. I experienced a great many things; lived them as if I had truly been there, as surely as I stand before you now. Thousands of lifetimes all experienced in a fraction of an instant." Fenyx studies Ar'Zarrcal's face carefully as he speaks, hoping to gain some indication of the dwarf's own experience. "A great many of these possible lives seemed to imply some level of involvement with the Lissalan faith itself. Virtue magic." At this last bit the necromancer falls silent, his focus now solely on his companion's own thoughts and reaction.

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Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 1 = 12

Though the path ahead remains clear, Fenyx allows his nerves and mind to settle that he might afford himself clarity and focus. These next steps would likely prove a trial taxing beyond the wildest dreams of any present. He must be ready; cautious, prudent, and steadfast. His eyes rise to view the portal ahead, the vortex of wintry energies coalescing and shifting above in a maelstrom of frigid chaos. The necromancer closes his eyes and presses a thumb to the center of the sihedron rune upon his brow. It begins to shimmer and shed a faint glow, an undulating eye of azure hue projected before the Shalasti man's forehead.

His gaze directed before him, he takes a look at the portal and the area once more: a full, careful sweep. The others plunged ahead without heed, but he would be certain.

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Activating his sihedron to gain the benefits of detect magic, then slowly observing everything in the area—the portal most importantly—to make sure nothing has been missed.

Taking 20 on Perception -- 20 + 4 = 24

Fenyx ceases clenching and opening his hands as his eyes follow the path Marcellano takes to the nearby forms of Gwynn and Styvanus. Just as the marine's rifle butt digs itself into the snow with a crunch, the necromancer bends over and retrieves his own implement: Dirge. Quietly and passively, he approaches to Marcellano's right flank where he begins studying the pair of Andoran Captains intimately, to the point of being unnerving. It is as though the sin mage has been granted a new pair of eyes with which to observe the world. Colors seem more vibrant; the subtle nuances of a glance more pronounced. Even the haze of the storm yet raging above the portal, awash in a pale blue glow, seems an altogether different entity. Fenyx is forced to admit that he is different. The toll of The Rider's boon would likely not be fully realized for weeks, if not months, to come—but whatever the Varisian-turned-Shalasti man had been, such a being no longer existed.

Lending the weight of his own voice to Marcellano's reprimand and demand to Knight-Captain Gwynn, Fenyx is surprised at his own tone. It is even and calm, spoken as though voiced by one for whom the frailties of life held no jurisdiction; untinged by self-motivation and self-importance. No longer were his words carefully crafted towards the end of eliciting a desired response. Instead, his words stood on their own merit. Words borne on the wings of what was necessary; borne on the weight of what would be, despite the misgivings of any present. His wonder at his own sense of purpose is washed out by an inward knowing of what must be done. Despite Gwynn's desperation, her lot would be no different. The die had been cast.

"The Chelaxian speaks truly, as you well know, Gwynn. Failures of the past shall not serve as inhibition to the path forward. The misgivings and hesitance of a girl from Andoran are too paltry a shield to earn you respite from this task. Acknowledge now what you are: not a child, not a mere soldier. You now share of the same font of power that emboldens us all; that compels us all. Do you think such offerings are given to suffer use at our leisure—our whim?" Trudging several steps forward to stand beside Marcellano, Fenyx surprises himself once more in that it is not a glowering condemnation that chokes his glance down at the woman, but a sympathetic visage. "Closing the portal is no longer a priority, but one step of many on a far reaching course to right the wretched state of this world. Andoran is not the only nation to suffer, and Andoran is not alone in cleansing the world of such malignance. As such, your insistence on remaining alone has no bearing on our shared fates."

Placing one foot forward and shifting the haft of his scythe to his left hand, Fenyx extends his right hand down to Gwynn. An offer not only to help her to her feet, but a sought confirmation of her own resolve to see her duty through. Both the duty assigned her of Andoran, and the implacable will of Baba Yaga assigned them by The Black Rider's passing.

Diplomacy (Aid Another): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (12) + 9 = 21

Fenyx is going to be lending his voice to Marcellano's "plea". Will have a post to accompany it when I get home. For now, just covering the bonus to his check.

Until you hand them some wands and staves, they can be pretty underwhelming. If you're, oh, say a 15th level winter witch with a familiar toting around a staff of frost, things get interesting.

I'll probably stick with the scythe. I hadn't really considered the added complication it would pose to combat rounds, given the potential for undead minions on top of that. Having a free, scaling pearl of power is certainly not something I'll languish.

Darn post-eating monsters.

Been turning over the idea of trading out my arcane bond for a familiar for the past couple of days. Any thoughts on this?

I think a familiar would be thematically appropriate given an infusion of mythic power by THE witch. Improved Familiar down the road is a very attractive option, as well. The spell recall from an arcane bond is nothing to balk at, of course, but the versatility of a familiar is a huge boon (especially of the Improved variety). What's causing the snag and hesitance is the fact that Thassilonian-taught wizards are pretty famous for their polearms. I'm not sure if I want to give up that identifying badge of office, though I admit that I've very specifically left open the potential for a road forward that could see Fenyx actively opposing Karzoug in the future. He could just as easily fall further under his sway, as well. We'll see how that goes.

Looking forward to the prevalent awkwardness that is the paranoid, sidelong glances between Ar'Z and Fenyx.

Let's not forget the much dreaded creeping doom that accompanies a hearty bowl of chili.

Rising once more to a standing position, Fenyx takes in fully the surroundings. It would appear he was not alone in whatever it was that had taken root in the fibers of his being. Powers spanning the cosmos, previously unknown and untapped, course through the necromancer's very life essence, anchored to powers and a destiny formerly beyond their ken. He flexes his hand several times, motes and wisps of dark energies coalescing along his digits. Though the transformation for him seemed to be one of inward manifestations, he notes that it is not so for some of the others. It would seem the Witch Queen's gifts were as varied as they were cryptic.

It is Rasso and Teladon that seem to have undergone the most significant metamorphoses. Fenyx observes the pair in abject silence, not yet wishing to divulge his own ascension to something more until he can find some measure of understanding of what the others themselves have endured. His brief glance of omniscience—or were they merely possibilities?—has left the ambassador from Xin-Shalast rattled. More desperately, he desperately needs to learn what the dwarf had seen. His own existence may well depend on it.

Sounds good to me. Should be out of the holiday/weekend marshes tonight, but weekends will likely continue to be nightmarish for my posting.

A turkey coma is pretty good at halting creative ventures.

I watched that movie nearly every day between the age of 4 and 6, haha. Still in my top five films list, easily.

Unaware of the course of the discussion, Fenyx only arches an eyebrow as Marcellano steps forward to fire a shot into The Black Rider's face. Too late comes the necromancer's attempt to halt the marine; so late that it doesn't happen at all. Only a half step towards the old man's fall, Fenyx beholds the inky fog of the rider's boon. As the ethereal essence pierces his body to clutch at his heart, the Shalasti ambassador finds himself gasping feebly through clenched teeth. His legs lose their strength, and he pitches forward onto his knees and elbows clutching pointlessly at snow. A tide of thoughts and pasts erupt all around him. What would have been; what could have been. What should have been—all replaced by a thousand possibilities.

Fenyx's acceptance at the Korvosan Academae had been fortuitous for not only he, but his family. The son of a cobbler in Magnimar, little existed for Feyronix in the way of possibilities. This was a chance to make something of himself. A chance to lift himself out of the squalor his parents had birthed him into; to escape the simpletons and their meager means. It was the proudest moment of his life.

A loud sputter of breath forces past Fenyx's clenched teeth. His hands clench so tightly that his nails threaten to pierce his gloves.

Karzoug's campaign conquered much of Varisia's northern fronts. It was only a matter of time until the rest fell. Thassilon resurgent; what hope did the backwater fools of Varisia have to stand against such unassailable power? It was an opportunity for those with the wits to see it. And Fenyx had seen it. He had dreamed of it—obsessed over it. All of his efforts to this end would finally see reward. His shackles were gone, replaced by the promise of true guidance at the hands of the most powerful wizards ever to walk the face of Golarion. They had finally realized his worth. He was to be assigned to a master of Sin Magic himself—placed on the true path to knowledge and power. It was the proudest moment of his life.

A rasped inhale tells the tale of struggled breaths all too clearly. It could not be fought. It would not be denied. Such power...

Fenyx kneels before Karzoug in deference, only to be ended in a fit of envious rage by the Runelord's ire.

Karzoug lies in withered ruin at Fenyx's feet, whose skin is rotten and twisted, bones protruding from what little taut skin remains. His eye-sockets now empty save for malign red flames, he reaches to retrieve the fallen Runelord's weapon.

Fenyx clasps hands with Lord-Admiral Styvanus, both in the twilight of their years. The combined fleets of Cheliax and Andoran sit in impressive array outside the now-conquered ruin of the slaver town of Sandpoint.

Life fading before the Whispering Tyrant's assault, Fenyx recites the final phrase of the Dictum Eternus, sacrificing the very fabric of his being. The motes of positive energy that had once constituted the Virtue Mage coalesce along the length of Feyswatter, and Ordrud charges Tar-Baphon with an explosive warcry that shatters the very foundations of Gallowspire.

A thousand other lifetimes explode through his psyche, each wildly different than the rest. It is more than a mortal man can fathom. More than he can withstand. It threatens to unhinge him; to swallow him up forever in a chasm of lost identities and an utter lack of self. Breath now feeble wheezes, Fenyx finally stops resisting, then yields himself over to the torrent of power that yet seeks to swallow him whole. I accept your terms! I ACCEPT-gghrrrggh!

Finally, the feeling subsides, replaced by something different. He remains motionless, crouched in the snow for several long moments, examining his body as if it were no longer his own. Such is his awe that Fenyx does not seem to notice his hearing has returned; his bruises and wounds gone. The invisible miasma of power still thrumming through his very being, he turns to regard the others, curious if they too have received such a blessing and curse. "The portal... the Rider? Yes. I am different. I am more whole."

Fenyx stares momentarily at Ar'Zarrcal. Did he witness it too? Would he then think me a traitor?

HP: 1d6 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6
Fort +1; Ref +1

Additional Skill Ranks: