Gnasher Basher's page

In CRB Pathfinder 1ed. on page 8 it says:

Quote:

"Generally speaking, rolling high is better than rolling low. Percentile rolls are a special case, indicated as rolling d%. You can generate a random number in this range by rolling two differently colored ten-sided dice (2d10). Pick one color to represent the tens digit, then roll both dice. If the die chosen to be the tens digit rolls a “4” and the other d10 rolls a “2,” then you’ve generated a 42. A zero on the tens digit die indicates a result from 1 to 9, or 100 if both dice result in a zero. Some d10s are printed with “10,” “20,” “30,” and so on in order to make reading d% rolls easier. Unless otherwise noted, whenever you must round a number, always round down."

It would seem that the issue has been resolved. 00 + 0 = 100; 00 + 1 = 1; 10 + 0 = 10; 20 + 0 = 20, etc.

But, there are people who do not consider this to apply to the second edition and Starfinder.

Why did paizo make this so difficult? The addition method would have been much simpler.

The very obscure text here, is "A zero on the tens digit die indicates a result from 1 to 9, or 100 if both dice result in a zero." This implies 0 on the tens digit is actually X, where X = 1-9. Which implies that single digit 0s should be rerolled unless paired with double aught "00"

Gnasher will accept a sap. He performs a few practice swings. Confident with the feel for it, he looks ready to seek out these troublemakers.

The over-confident half-orc was quickly humbled as he would catch his feet on the sack. After stumbling and falling a couple times, he finally managed to get the hang of it. Unfortunately, it was too late and he found himself last.

Hanging his sack back near the start, his attention turned to the crowd. He listened curiously. Finally, some action! He thought to himself. He balls a fist and punches into his other opened hand.

"These bullies need... lessons learned!"

Struggling to find the right words, he crosses his arm and humphs.

dexterity: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
dexterity: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12
dexterity: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20

Gnasher gives a confident smile. He swing his arm around to his chest with a thumbs up before heading to the south side of the lanes and picking out a sack.

The half-orc finds a spot right in the middle and gets in the sack. He grips it tightly, his muscles tensing up. No one can lift like Gnahser. He thinks himself. Imagining the game is more based more on strength than coordination.

Hopefully he doesn't rip the sack! lol. Of course I'll roll dex for it when Yarla gives the "go". But Gnasher would see the game and think simplistically and probably mistakenly interprets the proper sacking techniques.

Gnasher, having already expressed interest in sack racing to the dwarf, notices the others approach. He says to them, before they speak.

[bold]"Want to jump sacks against Gansher?"[/bold]

diplomacy: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (8) - 2 = 6

Gnasher looks on to the sack races with curiosity and bemusement. What an interesting game. Sizing up the objective and the dwarfs role, Gnasher approaches her, from around the crowd and race.

Gnasher can jump sacks!

His words are broken but he has a grin of confidence about him.

Gnasher frowns and starts to feel his ears. Gauging their size with his hands and then looking to everyone's ears around him. He holds his arm out, peering through his thumb and index finger that he's using as an invisible ruler. His fingers are visibly seen unable to commit to a length.

With a sigh, Gnasher is seen giving up as his one track mind moves on to the thought of food. He makes his way over to the food stalls, hoping to find some fried fish.

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (10) - 2 = 8

The people he did talk to, didn't know much, or rather maybe they wouldn't say. Nor did he manage to glean information from overheard conversations. Who knew? Not Gnasher.

Gnasher pulls out his compass and compares its direction in relation to the mountains, in an attempt to give him an idea which way is north by using the mountains as a marker.

Gnasher walks with a heavy foot. When he sits at the table, the chair is felt with a force. Seeing the ale, he slams his balled fist next to the mug on the table in exclamation. The mug swivels almost toppling over, sloshing the ale around.

Now THATS service!

He says before grabbing the mug and swooping the swill. A large satisfying gasp of air shortly follows. Rubbing the ale that leaks out around his tusks with his arm, he sets his eyes on the bowl of stew. Gnasher doesn't appear to be showing restraint as he forgoes the spoon and proceeds straight into drink-eating the soup.

Eat... first... Search... later...

Breaking from the sounds of chew-slurping, Gnasher managers to get a few words out in-between his indulgence. Somehow though, despite his direct approach, there is some wisdom to his broken-food-speech.

A hunter-green half-orc sits slumped sideways on the table. His hair, black and kept back in a pony tail. His leather armor, worn in yet durable and dependable, woven in a lamellar fashion. Strapped around his chair, rests a large hammer with bone spikes affixed to both ends of its heads. A tattoo rises up from under his armor peaking ever so through his neckline, although its not enough to make out what it is.

The smell of tobacco seems to awaken Gnasher from his ale induced slumber. His head rises and he brushes the drool from around one of his tusks.

"What's this about? Babysitting a Dragon?"

He says pretending as though he were paying attention.

"No matter, anywhere is better than here. We shall go to Highdelve!"

He hits the table with a strong open palm as he stands up. His orc side begins to heat his blood for adventure.