I really hope we'll get to play together again! For now, would you mind setting me as inactive from the campaign settings?
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Sorry, but I don't think I can continue this campaign. I simply don't have the time or energy to keep up with PbP right now. :(
Sorry, I'm a bit out of spoons at the moment. Both of Telias' ideas sound fine to me.
Once the gnome has finished shackling Darius—and with the diminutive lawkeeper's assent—Gemariah goes through his pocket for the scroll case.
"I believe you, Darius." Gemariah steps up. "Anything you could tell us about your employer would go a long way in clearing your name. They did attempt to have you killed, as well, so I would not spend too much time defending them." The elf glances at the paladin with a conciliatory nod. "You might well be the safest in custody, while we clear up this mess."
Gemariah keeps his distance from the extraplanar assassin. He draws from his satchel a ceremonial rod—a length of fancifully carved darkwood with a jewelled silver grip—using as a part of his following series of supplications.
There might be a summon with glitterdust (or something similar), but I can't find one right at this moment.
Gemariah moves with Telias and Valtyra, listening intently to the bard's description. "I have nothing that would aid us against invisible opponents, unfortunately. This is not quite what I had in mind when I said my rogations this morning..." As the group nears the site of the attack, the elf recites a quick prayer to bolster his allies.
"Whatever you do," he shouts at the floating painting, where Sithe's voice is coming from, "do not reveal the painting!"
The gnome is moving along with Valtyra, Telias, & Gemariah looking irritated, "Then why did you not report it?" Gemariah remains calm and explains, "We had no time and deemed ourselves capable enough to pursue the matter personally. Had we not gone after the suspect immediately, he would have killed Mister Vittanis—there was not a moment to spare. The same applies to Miss Gertwright." In truth, the elf cares little for institutionalised law-enforcement, but as the saying goes, 'When in Absalom...'
Real life always takes precedence. Of course, it'd be preferable to let us know beforehand if you need to take a break for whatever reason, though I know all too well that mental health stuff doesn't always come with advance warning. Take care of yourself!
"Eleazonna Gertwright's residence," Gemariah explains calmly, emphasising his soberness, and points in the direction of Burgundy Wine Terrace. "There has just been an attempt on Belfor Vittanis' life, and he suspects Miss Gertwright might also be at risk—all of this is art-related, and thus of concern to the Eternal Rose's faithful. I will gladly present you with all the details, but I must request that we walk as we speak..."
Gemariah has little affection for Abadarans, even if they do occasionally make for good patrons—their god's focus on material wealth and legalism is quite beyond his elven sensibilities. Still, he does not seek to avoid them on his way, instead walking directly towards the Gertwright estate while presenting his holy symbol to anyone who might approach him. Shelyn has little authority in legal matters, but he trusts identifying himself as a goodly priest will dissuade the Brotherhood from thinking him a ruffian. "Excuse my trespass," he explains firmly but apologetically, "but there is an urgent spiritual emergency I must attend to."
Gemariah follows suit, trying to guide the others along a route that does not include dog-owners' residences or otherwise hazardous premises.
Just as a heads up: I'll be out of town for most of next week (Sunday to Friday), so I might not be able to post much.
With his request left ignored, the elf shakes his head at Telias' receding back. "What use is all that learning, if you refuse to use it?" "Thank you," he says to Belfor, just before following after the others. "Rest assured, we shall hasten to Miss Gertwright's residence at once."
I don't find OOC confusion to be fun. The whole point of a trap is no be a hidden danger, but even then there is a procedure to follow in playing out how it is found or not found, triggered or disabled. This challenge obviously had a framework, as well, and I would have preferred to know it beforehand. Not narrative specifics or anything, but something like, "Okay, this is a skill challenge: there's going to be multiple rolls, and we'll do them one at a time. First, please roll to X..." That's not spoiling anything of import, simply letting the players know what to expect and how to proceed in an environment that is not built into the rules (as skill challenges are not part of the Core PF ruleset). Like, if you were playing with a newbie who didn't know how traps work, you'd tell them, because otherwise they're not going to know what to do as a player, and its probably going to make their character look dumb for no reason.
The elf goes about his inspection with a furrowed brow, glancing sharply at Telias and his wine-glass. "Laziness is unbecoming of the young," he muses, "and age does not guarantee wisdom. Frankly, I do not know what to make of this beyond the fact that it is magical—there is something to affect the mind, and something to call a thing into being... that is all I can say for certain. Come now, take a look."
Gemariah strokes his chin thoughtfully. His expression is not entirely without sympathy for the grieving man—however, for better or worse, he has trained himself to not allow the deaths of humans to affect him overmuch. "I was hoping you might shed light on the issue. Did you and Mister Coyl have any enemies in common? Are there any other associates that you believe could be targeted? We must be away soon, to keep up with that scoundrel, but he is likely a mere errand boy. Your aid might help us save more lives this night, so I beg you to think on it."
No need to apologise! Just something to keep in mind for later, if there are similar challenges to come.
The fact that it was a challenge it totally fine. Definitely better than just one combat after another.
I'll give a heads up next time I suppose. That's all I really need. You did ask before, and that's good. However, I was still very much in the middle of my own attempt, as can be seen in the posts above where I'm trying to ask about positioning and how I might get to speaking distance. But again, things ended up working out, so no harm done. Some of my frustration was, perhaps, due to the fact that it wasn't clear from the start how difficult it would be to move through the crowd. First I assumed it was going to be just one check, but it ended up being a series of rolls. Maybe it would have been better to let us know right off the bat that it would be a skill challenge? (The scene, as a whole, was quite interesting and well described, just so that I'm not being too negative! I clearly had the wrong expectations going in.) Hopefully this can blow over. I want this to be a fun game with hopefully a touch of mystery and not to frustrating. Yeah, sorry for making such big deal out of this, but I was genuinely bothered and wanted to air that, rather than just stewing silently. That sort of stuff breeds animosity, which I wanted to avoid here. Hopefully I didn't end up doing the opposite. :S
Gemariah nods to the others and follows after Belfor, satisfied with the fact that a potential massacre has been avoided. "As my... colleague... already hinted," he says, motioning to Telias, "we are on the trail of what appears to be criminal conspiracy, which led to the destruction of Mister Coyl's collection and indeed, his untimely death. He was delivered an enchanted—or possibly cursed—painting by an individual known as 'Darius Finch.' When revealed, the painting came to life with murderous intent. The same man delivered one of these paintings to you." With that said, the elf turns his attention to the paintings. "Telias, please assist me..."
I'm generally of the mind that we're playing a game, and we should be able to discuss that game as players. That might sometimes result in situations where you have to come up with a reason to act a certain way in character, but it's not like the characters have minds of their own. Of course, in-character negotiations might be preferrable when there's no out-of-character friction, but trying to hash out OOC disagreements IC is rarely a good idea. Gemariah isn't going to mind as much his player, and there wasn't really an opportunity for IC talk in this situation, regardless.
I'm not sure what good roll you are talking about I don't see anything after your reflex save but I may have missed it. Wa-aay back when we started to move through the crowd, I rolled a nat 20 on Diplomacy. Ancient history, I know. :P Honestly, the roll is not all that important, even though I'm a bit salty about wasting it—that's just how it goes sometimes. I was more frustrated about potentially losing my ability to act on the situation after a long set-up, whether it required a new roll or not.
Your actions are completely in character for Gabrielle and not unreasonable given the circumstances; that's fine. I'm talking about OOC coordination. In hindsight, keeping the game moving forward was probably worth the risk (since everything did turn out fine in the end), but whether that risk should have been taken in the first place should, in my opinion, have warranted discussion. I would have preferred to try my less risky option first, and then pulled the trigger if necessary. I'm sorry if I'm coming across as confrontational: I'm just trying to set up some base conventions, since this is the first time we've played together.
Gemariah walks into the cleared-up space with his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "Mister Vittanis!" he calls out. "I am Gemariah Morgethai of Atelier Vertu. Forgive this intrusion, but there is real danger here, both to you and your guests. I have it on good authority that one of those paintings is not what it appears to be! Please, call for a recess and allow me to inspect them..."
It's not that big of a deal, though I admit I'm a bit frustrated. Personally, I'd have preferred if you'd asked everyone if they were done being diplomatic or sneaky before firing, since this might well exclude those options. It's not a bad back-up plan, but I would have liked a try at it before we started escalating (especially since it was taking so damn long to set it up—that crowd turned out to be way more of a hassle than I initially thought). And obviously we're disagreed on the risks, here: at worst, this might turn into stampede, with us in the middle. Being escorted out is a best-case scenario. But I'm not asking for a retcon or anything, just (hopefully) clearing up future communication. Let's see where this takes us—it might turn out to be interesting.
Well, there goes my good roll. :(
Okay, thanks. Would grace allow me to move up to the front? That's not exactly what the spell is meant for, but I'm trying to improvise. :P
Could I get into the front row, so I don't have to scream? I'm a bit confused as to where should be in the crowd. I can cast grace, if you deem that might help me to get closer without getting tangled up.
The elf glides through the stumbling crowd without losing his poise, keeping up a dignified yet rapid pace.
Mostly to not cause a panic, and because the whole situation is pretty hard to explain in a hurry ("Magical paintings are coming alive to kill people! D:"). I guess you could Bluff about there being another, more believable danger...? Otherwise, I think you'd just get thrown out.
Gemariah finds the hectic ambiance of the party more than a little wearing—he feels much like rock in the middle of a rapid stream, the only static object in a constant flurry of movement and sound. He coolly rebuffs all attempts at conversation, presenting approachers with his usual elven aloofness. As the merry-makers' (and more importantly, the guards') attention is drawn to Valtyra, he attempts to slip away and zig-zag his way through the crowd towards their host.
As Gabrielle makes for the entrance, Gemariah follows... even though it pains him to leave the damaged paintings as they are. He will need to send word to his apprentices, so they can pick them up as soon as possible. "We should ask the neighbours if they saw this miscreant, and pick up the scent from there. Someone must have noticed him and where he was headed. Telias, give us a full description of this Darius, if you would..."
Diplomacy to gather information might be our best bet.
"Darius who?" ponders Gemariah, lost somewhere between 'should I know?' and 'do I care?' "Whoever he is, we should find him immediately and discourage him from this blasphemous foolishness. Thankfully, fortune seems to have favoured us with capable company..."
I'll leave the panicky servant(?) to more sociable party members. @The GM: Could you please number the rooms? I'm having trouble picturing where everything is on the map.
Gemariah follows Telias' antics with a blank, monochrome stare, though the fading magic of the seascape does catch his attention, as well. The young man was perceptive, at the very least. "Are you telling me those monsters came out of this painting?" the elf muses aloud, though the question is mostly rhetorical. "The fact that it remains untouched would certainly imply a connection..." He squints at the piece, trying to ascertain who made it and what might be lacking, based on both style and composition—the octopi would certainly have been focal points, and if they literally crawled out of the painting, their absence could perhaps be determined based on missing brushstrokes and imperfections in the layout.
I'm glad to spend some money so that people have access to their cool abilities when they are really needed, but we can compromise. It's not like we're short on healing, as a party. Just know that I have the wand, and that I'm happy to burn through it whenever.
Gemariah shakes his head. "Raising the dead is yet beyond my ken. The only thing we can do for him is to find out what led to his demise..." The elf kneels next to one of the stains left behind by the octopi, not quite touching it with his fingers. "These beings were... made, somehow—seemingly out of paint. Telias, you appear to know more than I do. Do you have any clue as to what process might birth such blasphemies?"
Bah, 750 gp is practically nothing. Also, fervor and lay on hands might come in handy in a fight, whereas the wand is specifically for out-of-combat healing.
Once he feels there is a tactful moment to do so, Gemariah informs the others of Coyl's passing. "It appears our host is deceased," he says grimly. "You are here for the dinner, I presume? And possible negotiations for employment." The question seems to be aimed mostly at Gabrielle and Sithe.
Why is everyone using their limited healing resources when there's a perfectly good wand right here!?
After the damnable noise of a life-and-death struggle has died down, Gemariah dismisses his heavenly eagle with a wave. He frowns at the unmoving body, knowing it for a cadaver by its lack of reaction to Shelyn's healing energies. He nevertheless goes over, if only to check on the person's identity. The elf then reaches into his satchel and pulls out a delicate wand from amongst his brushes—the implement is fashioned out of date palm, with engraved images of pilgrims at a desert oasis. Thus equipped, he goes amongst those gathered, administering healing as needed. His manner is gentle, yet distant, and he seems to have some difficulties concentrating on his living patients over the mangled paintings that litter the floors. Anyone who so much as accidentally steps on even the tiniest scrap of canvas or the littlest splinter of a broken frame is quickly chided and insistently waved to move over. "No one goes any further alone," he decrees calmly, but in a firm tone. "There may be more of those... abominations. I shan't have any noble yet avoidable deaths on my conscience this day..."
Gemariah finishes his prayer, which is answered by a pleasant trill and a bright flash of light, as a magnificent raptor emerges out of nowhere, like a thought that becomes a rough sketch then gets filled out with colour and definition: its plumage is both a shimmery, beetle-shell black and a pure white, and its wattles are a deep shade of crimson. It fiercely assails the remaining octopus with its brazen talons and beak . The elf moves in after Telias as the young man rushes to aid Valtyra, raising his holy symbol and unleashing Shelyn's restorative energies as a wave of scintillating light and warmth, to cover both her fallen champion as well as the curiously ashen dwarf currently struggling with the artificial monstrosity in the following room.
Just so that I know what to do next, how badly is Valtyra messed up? I have a scroll of delay poison and some antitoxin, if needed, but I could also channel energy to help out both her and Sithe, if the poison isn't immediately lethal.
Gemariah flinches at the abrupt sound of gunfire, the smell of powder assaulting his sensitive nostrils. The gracefulness of Valtyra's movements is barely more tolerable to his eyes, beauteous as it is—violence simply does not sit well with the elf's peaceable sensibilities. At least the foes are not living, feeling beings. Gemariah begins another prayer, this time beseeching the goddess for an emissary...
I believe duergar are immune to poison.
"Artificial beings...?" mutters Gemariah. He then recites in Celestial a litany exhorting the irreplaceable sacredness of creative expression and its material results, and places an anathema on those who would dare harm the inviolable. The prayer is hardly a Shelynite staple, instead coming off as either apocryphal or altogether heterodox.
Gemariah moves into the foyer, muttering a brief, formulaic response to Valtyra's blessing. As he crosses the threshold and beholds the iconoclast octopi and the results of their bloody rampage, his brow furrows indignantly. "This is a travesty!" he declares, mostly at Valtyra. "We need to stop them before they damage more paintings beyond repair—and protect any survivors, of course." He begins a prayer, reaching into the long, airy library-halls of his mind for the correct litany...
Arriving only slightly late to the party, Gemariah nods cordially at Telias—though as ever, it feels as if there is a wide gulf of ineffable distance between the two. Even if he is blessed with celestial blood, the young archivist seemed to be doubly afflicted with the usual frenetic restlessness that defined humankind. At the sight of blood on the door-frame, the elf's vague expression of turns grim. "As far as I am aware," he muses, "today is not one of those human holidays celebrated with pranks and tomfoolery." The person with the metal arm he does not know, but assumes he is a guest as well. A man of action, clearly, moving in without hesitation. Caressing the silver songbird which hangs from his neck, the priest uses his delicate fingers to draw a few lines across his hands and face. With a ripple, his skin takes on the consistency of a painted canvas, with the rough and smooth texture of brush-strokes. With that done, he moves in after the others.
Sorry, I had a post ready to go yesterday, but got blind-sided by website maintenance. |