Glorin Too-Tall's page

Player Name: Wrong John Silver
Character Name: Glorin Too-Tall
Faction: Silver Crusade
PFS Number: 118418-2
Day Job: Craft(Blacksmith) 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

Glorin, not quite sure how to contribute, comments,
"Bah, Minvotas' real failing is not taking the time to work out. He's got a body, he should make the best of it."

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (3) - 1 = 2

Glorin just ignores the foreman's jabs and adds to Aylanna's story, "Where do we place the cargo?"

Diplomacy Aid Another: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (7) - 1 = 6

Glorin shrugs and hefts his urgrosh. "I got my paintbrush right here if you want to go this way."

"You heard the Taldan. Do we have a problem here?" Glorin bellows, standing tall.

Bluff Aid: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (20) - 1 = 19

Glorin leaves the talking to the more diplomatically minded, but remains present and clear muscle should there be any issue.

Knowledge(Nobility): 1d20 ⇒ 17
Diplomacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (14) - 1 = 13

"I can splash paint on canvas just fine," Glorin mutters.

Glorin guffaws. "Wait, so you want us to go bust up some paintings of a spoon-fed meringue puff? Yes, okay, that's the sort of skill and discretion I can muster! I'm in."

"Skill and discretion?" Glorin reads, and responds with a guffaw. "Sure, let's give it a shot." He grins and shakes his head.

"Aye, and a nice mushroom stew and ale to wash it down!"

Glorin resheathes his weapon and stares at the "Qadiran". "You mean that slaver wasn't even a person? This is bad. What is that thing, and why was it buying people?"

"They done did you wrong, they did," Glorin agrees, wiping his blade. "Let's not sit around and wait for the festivities to catch up with this."

"Ye can't ever trust the help, can ye?" Glorin challenges, as he closes distance to stand with Elemenar and swings at the Qadiran.

Power Attack (Bull's Strength): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (18) + 11 = 29
Damage: 1d8 + 16 ⇒ (8) + 16 = 24

ETA: Wait, I normally have a +10 damage, then add +3 for Bull's Strength (two-handed), then +6 for Power Attack, so that's actually +19 damage instead of +16.

"Guess I'm the pesky interferer today."

The one advantage Glorin's size has over his brethren are his long legs. He takes off running to get ahead of the Qadiran contingent.

Glorin fumes to his compatriots.

"Listen, I'm not going to just stand here and take this. I don't even think these are legally slaves, so I'm either going to throw the book at someone's head, or my axe. And I'm no good with books. Where are those pesky, interfering Andoreans?"

"I'm not the best with my numbers so 10 for each sounds fine. I still want to know who the last one is, though."

"Slavery may be legal here, but it sounds like the taking of these people as slaves is not. I can't just grab a random kid off the street and say, 'Hey! I got a slave!' Even if it's the bloomin' Worldwound!"

Glorin fumes. "If this gets to be a bidding war, someone else is going to have to handle negotiations. I've got a dwarf's tongue, aye!"

Glorin grasps and tugs his beard. "I knew it! That's the slave source I was afraid of! Aye, one cannot let this injustice stand! You have my service, Lady Zadrian, and I shall not let these crusaders remain in chains!"

Glorin burps and looks up at the moon. "Fine night for it! Wonderful fare and companionship. I'm headed to the Commemorative Service."

"Well I, for one, have worked up an appetite with all this, we'll need some ale to celebrate."

A bit more quietly, he adds, "And we should see what we can learn about Jirril and what he's brought back from the Worldwound."

Glorin shrugs. "Let's start with what we have right in front of us."

He starts examining the Pathfinder's corpse, looking for evidence of injury and any odd markings or equipment.

"I hate flyers, I hate magical darkness..." Glorin grumbles as he puts away his weapon.

He looks around. "What do you think? Did that creature come out of one of the trinkets scattered around here? Is it going to summon another one?"

He shrugs and looks around. He might not be any good at understanding the magic held in each object, but he still has a keen eye for craftsmanship. He figures he'll know if he sees something is broken or opened.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

Glorin moves to interpose himself between the undead monster and his companions.

Move and ready power attack.

"You are a genius!!" Aya shouts.

She takes out her scroll of obscuring mist and casts it.

"That's more like it..." Glorin snarls.

He steps into the mist. "You want to come find us, you frigid poltroon? I'm right here. Come get me, weakling!"

5' step and ready a full attack.

"We're sitting ducks if we just wait for the ghost to just keep tossing snowballs from darkness! Does anyone have a fog or huge light to deal with this thing?"

Glorin holds his ground and waits.

Hold action, will still act before the owb depending on the party.

Glorin grunts as the chill seeps into his bones. "Is that the best you can do?" he bellows. "A spring day in the peaks of the Five Kingdoms does more! Get back here and finish the job properly, you coward!"

Standing my ground, readying a full power attack.

Not liking his chance in the darkness he draws his wand of magic missile and readies to cast as soon as he sees the creature.

Yes! Cast Magic Missile against the darkness!

"Well, this is just sporin' useless! What kind of darkness is that? Oh, never mind, I'm going to be needing this here..."

Glorin pulls a vial off his belt, unstoppers it with his teeth, and pours the substance within over his eyes.

"Always had to keep a backup of grandma's recipe growing up."

Pull out and consume a potion of darkvision. 5' step forward to the edge of the darkness.

"Not much fire other than my torch," Glorin calls back, indicating the mote orbiting his head. "But I've still got my axe!"

He pulls out his urgrosh and waits.

Wield urgrosh +1, ready action to attack if it gets within reach.

Glorin tosses his ioun torch around his head and looks around warily.

"I won't pretend to know what's happening here, but let me know where you need me pointed."

"Aye," Glorin responds to the dwarf.

"It's not often you hear about an object getting loose. So we've got something like a particularly nasty chair running around. Aye, we'll get to the bottom of this, especially since you don't have more information. I'm not one to waste Your Grace's time, so let's go vault delving!"

Glorin smiles and shrugs. "I'm not the one for hobnobbing and polite talk anyway. I'm in."

"We had to trek across the blazing Osiriani desert once, just to have us literally swept up into the land of the djinn! I tell you, for a man used to the solidity of stone, having to fly around to get anywhere was a humbling experience."

Answering Ki Chin, Glorin snorts and replies, "Both, neither, probably best not to think about it too much and just make sure we show up tonight."

Glorin shrugs at To-to. "We have a name. We could ask."

He gestures to have another loaf brought to the table, tears off a chunk, and replies to Ki Chin, "If I were a betting man, I bet it's people like you and me. You don't hear of people calling demons 'slaves'."

Tossing a sympathetic look to Aylanna, he finishes, "Not even in Cheliax."

He bites deeply into the crusty hunk of bread.

Glorin nods with Aya's comment.

"Aye, they never do stand still, do they? Always up to something," he adds between mouthfuls of stew and bread.

With a subtle scowl, he mutters, "Not sure slaves from the Worldwound are a good idea, though."

"Yes, lunch! Off to the tavern!"

As Drandle Dreng finishes his speech, a gruff voice booms from the back of the hall. "Haha, 'tis be a fine time for ale on the Society's coin!"

The owner's voice is a mountain of a man, larger than expected, given the clearly Dwarven inflections. He certainly looks Dwarven, with a long braided brown beard, comfort in armor, and the large axe-spear (an urgrosh, right?) slung across his back. Yet the fact that he's well in excess of six feet tall suggests otherwise.

Looking around the room, he approaches the group that seems more from Tian Xia than local. "Aye, pleasure to meet ye! Haven't seen the likes of ye around here earlier. Always a joy to share a drink with new faces. The name's Glorin. Glorin Too-Tall, they call me, on account of the, you know." He gestures with his hand in the vicinity of the pate of his head.

"So, what say we find a place to get to know each other? I'd love to hear about your long-lost sister."

Hi, Wrong John Silver here. Looks like it's levels 3-5, so Glorin Too-Tall, a human raised by dwarves, should work and be reasonably tanky.

"Besides," Glorin adds, "Since you've already put in the effort to capture her yourselves, I'm sure the Duchess will reward you for your part in her return."

Bluff AA: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (7) - 1 = 6

Work has swamped me this week, and next week I'm traveling on business (but will still check in as I can). Please bot me as necessary, and I'll go along with whatever people choose.

Glorin trades in his oils and spends some money to pick up a potion of tongues.

Selling 2x oil of magic weapon for 50gp, spend 150 more gp for the potion of tongues.

Approaching the saloon, he looks the down carefully. "What? Do we really need to enter this place? Looks closed to me." He pulls a crowbar out of his pack. "I got a key, though."

Glorin pulls out two oils of magic weapon. "Perhaps these would be of interest? Designed for weapons, but mine already packs an arcane punch!"

"Potions, huh?" Glorin says, looking the wares over. "Is there any potion that can let me speak Auran?"

Glorin accepts some healing.

CLW: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8

"One touch is all I need this time."

Glorin steps in with the fury of a man who is so done with anything on this or any elemental plane.

Axe Attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (3) + 9 = 12
Axe Damage: 1d8 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13
Spear Attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (1) + 9 = 10
Spear Damage: 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13

Glorin rubs his face and inhales contemptuously. "All right," he grumbles as he approaches. "Let's get this over with. Check. Check."

Safely lounging in the aft of the main deck, leaning against the bulkhead and refusing to look out into the endless sky, Glorin shrugs. "Random checks? So they're border patrol or somesuch? All right. What are they looking for?"

Glorin clearly continues to bumble his way through the plane being at a net -6 on any Gather Information check here. Looking at the airship, he grunts approval and boards.