Fimfinkle's page

Fimfinkle wriggles free of Abaal's grasp and bows towards him briefly "أنت، يا صبي، هي أيضا لطيفة.", and hops to stand beside Warden Jax. Using one hand to brace himself against Jax he slowly raises the other, multicoloured sparks arcing from his fingers.

His eyes roll back and the incomprehensible gibberish coming from his mouth reaches a crescendo and a vivid, multicoloured flash bursts forth.

"رذاذ اللون!"

5' step, Colour Spray (DC 17 Will)

Fimfinkle spurs his mount onwards, his tiny legs flailing in the wind!

"بسرعة! أسرع رجل شاب!"

I delay until my mount Abaal has moved.

Fimfinkle cackles gleefully as he's whisked along by Abaal. "أخرى! أخرى!"

Sadly I am a plump 39lbs. A gnomely double move for me.

Fimfinkle does his best to keep up with his companions, racing forward in the direction of Vanya's warning.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19

Fimfinkle hops up and down, trying to see through the crowd.

"What is it Vanya? What do you see?"

"I'm sorry sir, we really don't have time for this!"

Fimfinkle scurries after Vanya.

We salute you!

Fimfinkle's eyes widen at the unexpected turn of events and begins babbling incoherently. "ماذا، كيف حصلنا على الأرض هنا؟ أنا حقا يجب أن تبدأ الاهتمام."

Rolling up his sleeves he begins to call upon his divine gifts to aid his companions.

"You're a very brave lad my boy and you've done us a fine service. I think you deserve this." Fimfinkle hands the boy a gold piece and his five trail rations, giving him a knowing wink as he does so. "Buy your mother something nice, and yourself something sweet, eh."

Fimfinkle waits patiently for Vanya to complete her task before moving up the stairs.

coughs politely

"Cadmion, this woman you saw, she wasn't by any chance a scraggly looking half-elf with black hair and rotting teeth? Possibly of Varisian descent?".

Fimfinkle elbows Jax in the thigh and whispers through gritted teeth "Jax, my good fellow, he literally just told us a woman came by with them yesterday."

"Cadmion, this woman you saw, she wasn't by any chance a scraggly looking half-elf with black hair and rotting teeth? Possibly of Varisian descent?".

"This won't do. This won't do at all!"

Fimfinkle pushes his way through the taller folk. How could we have ever hurt such innocent creatures

"Please, my name is Fimfinkle, let me heal your son. This has been a terrible misunderstanding and we'd very much like to help. I bought you a pie." Fimfinkle slowly brandishes the pie he pilfered from the kitchen.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (19) + 13 = 32

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

Is shattered hatched shattered or smashed shattered?

Fimfinkle looks around the kitchen for a sweet pie, or some fruit. "You don't mind if I borrow this do you?".

Before waiting for a reply he tosses it once in his hand and saunters off after his companions.

Thank you for letting us know! Be well.

Fimfinkle trots over to one of the patrons. "Excuse me, what on earth is going on? Is the inn normally this lively? Quite exciting isn't it? This is my first time here, anything you could recommend?

"Pseudodragons! My, my, my, what a wonderful start! Lovely creatures. And we really don't have any other leads..." Fimfinkle gives Libertus of the Chain two stout raps to the greaves with his staff. "Mr Libertus, my good man. Care to lead the way?.

Knowledge (Arcana): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17 To determine if Fimfinkle knows anything about pseudodragons.

"What a delight! I wonder what they portend. The Rakshasa sounds quite sinister. Oh well. No doubt we'll make the best of it."

As to the original cards...
Knowledge (arcana): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Knowledge (religion): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

"I'm afraid my knowledge of the Harrow really is quite lacking. Quite embarrassing really."

"Madame, it would be a true honour!"

Fimfinkle examines the card before pocketing it.

"Forgive my ignorance, Miss Foxglove, I have mastered many wondrous skills but a real Harrow reading is not something I've had the opportunity to experience. Are the readings reliable? What is the significance of the 'Yellow Prophet'? Do you remember what the fortune teller looked like? I'm sure we'll be able to get to the bottom of this!"

Fimfinkle offers a comforting wink to Zeeva, his blue eyes sparkling.

Yeah... Much obliged!" Vanya says, supporting Fimfinkle's request for information

Fimfinkle lets out an exasperated sigh...

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (11) + 13 = 24

Fimfinkle hops down from his cart and fondly pats the two donkeys hitched to it (Elano and Eran if you happen to ask).

As Mr Zadeir wanders off in the direction of some women (Really, this is hardly the time!), Fimfinkle instead heads over to the guards.

"Blessings friends! Fimfinkle bows low. "Could you by any chance direct me to Eodred's Square? We're actually on our way to meet with a Zeeva Foxglove. Is she famous here? I've not met her before, have you? Apparently she owns the Green Market? I've not been there either. Quite exciting really! Anyway. We'd be much obliged if you could point us in the right direction"

The thrush, Piper, perches on Fimfinkle's conical hat, suspiciously eyeing the grey tabby.

Fimfinkle taps Hastard the Bastard gently with his staff and whispers "Are the tall ones always so grim around here?"

The faint smell of straw and… donkey(?) precedes the entrance of a ruddy-cheeked and bright eyed gnome.

Fimfinkles fingertips and simple leather apron are stained a variety of colours. Tattoos peek out from under his bright blue tunic. A similarly coloured thrush alternates between sitting on his shoulder and flitting about the room, curiously poking about the books and knick-knacks.

Fimfinkle pulls himself up to one of the available seats, sits happily tapping his feet together, and removes his pointed hat (an affectation that makes him look less like a wizened seer, and more like a garden ornament).

“Good day young man! Have the others arrived yet?”

Hello! This will be my first PBP, really looking forward to it!

PFS number: 2317-31
Day Job roll: Craft (tattoo): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (1) + 10 = 11
Initiative modifier: +2
Perception modifier: +8