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Dang this fool is getting banged up! Thanks, Anarya!
Rhade's telekinetic attack sent a tin bucket barrelling towards the rat closest to her, crashing into it's skull, warping the metal around it. The dire rat fell to the floor, head encompassed and crushed, dripping blood from rips in the bucket. Ember's quick cuts tore into the flesh of the remaining dire rat. Though it bled over the boiler room floor, it's wounds did little to stop its attack. for Despite it's furiosity, Ember managed to bat off the creature with the side of his blade, repelling it back to the boiler it crawled from beneath. Cornered, damaged, and doomed, the rat let out a hiss. Campre remained within the corridor, not daring to join the fight. He didn't seem to comprehend the magic that some of the amnesiacs cast, though cheered at Gladiola and Ember's successful attacks. Past Rounds: Second Round of Combat (Bolded are up, whatever order you like!)First Round of Combat (Bolded are up, whatever order you like!)
Busy day at PAX today, post should be up tomorrow!
I'll be aiming to start picking this up by the end of the week, likely forming a post to serve as source for this next little foray into the Asylum for you all. Expect something up in the early weekend is my bet!
We can definitely workshop it. We'll need lines for when we initiate it, when the freeze is successful/fails, when you shatter or just do some crazy damage. Initiating attack:
Context specific freezing:
Context specific failing to freeze:
General freezing voice lines:
On successful shatter:
On failed shatter:
Thanks all, wanted to make my send off to you all as great as I could. Don't take it personal that Naira didn't say goodbye in person ;) I'll be waiting to read those punches, Istiel. When we reunite, we'll need to make a sweet water/punch combo attack, complete with a Super Move Portrait. I'm thinking a Freeze + Punch = Shatter kind of finisher.
GM, no need to do any followup with Tetchuix or Apachana. I am happy with how this concluded, glad I took a hiatus from a couple games to really devote the time to properly wrapping things up. Again, thank you all for letting me be part of this journey. Maybe someday we can share one or two more posts together :) y'all better survive, lest I am sending a lot of poor souls on a goose chase / to their graves. At this point and time, please mark me as inactive, GM. Thanks for inviting me to this wonderful game.
======================
Naira's Theme, play in the background "If what is said is true, Te-Moak is no more. Were we there another week, we'd have been reduced to ash alongside it. But we were here, Tetch. Me, you, and Pachi. Shadeholme saved us. Under Oios," she starts, taking a step to her map, "with a Suriname to help guide them, protected by Istiel and Drazan, Shadeholme will make it out of this nightmare." Naira's finger traces one of her proposed path. Briefly, the tip of her finger stops at a village, then continues. "But these people, they do not have such leaders and warriors. Even were the Flame not at their throats, on their own, they may not live to see the next year." "Gods may have forsaken this valley, but it'll rain blood before I do. Me and Pachi, us two sorceresses can bend heaven and earth to our wills. With the two of us, I like our odds." Naira's finger stops at Te-Moak, and slowly her finger drifts from her winding path, falling to her side. She turns to Tetchuix. "But what are two engineers to do without our Chief, eh, Tetch? What do you say, one last mission?" ======================
Naira had little to leave behind as a memento. She leaves behind a sealed letter on the bed in which she slept, and the canoe that herself and her colleagues came into Shadeholme in. Like so many mornings before, it rains when Naira, Tetchuix, and Apachana gathered outside High Hall. The other two engineers dress for the weather, draped over with thick ponchos, leather coverings over their bags to waterproof what supplies they carries. Uncharacteristically, Naira wears clothes fitting for the weather, face concealed beneath a wool hood, ready for the long journey ahead of her. Naira wrings her wrist, and pulls it to her heart. At her command, a thick mist grew around the three engineers. Cloaked in the fog, barely able to see each other mere steps away, the engineers exchange a nod, hold hands, and begin to walk towards the rising sun. Naira's Letter: Friends,
Shadeholme will soon be lost, yet it's people and heart survive. Our strength, our struggle, it is the fighting spirit that even the Flame cannot vanquish. Against such odds, if Shadeholme survives, so must other pockets of the Valley. I can't let myself belief that we alone are the last bastion of our people. You must all embark on this journey without me. Selfish as it may be, I am entrusting you to rebuild our civilization. You build it not just for yourselves, however, but for those who will join you, those who I am determined to save. You will give our Valley hop when I promise them that somewhere far south, far away from what happened here, our people rebuild and await with open arms for our return. About a day's travel south, past Alix's Last, the final village along the Father of there is a lonely Waypoint. Few had reason to venture so far, and it is used almost exclusively by engineers checking the river in those parts. There's a loose paver in the northeast corner of the Waypoint's common room. We leave little gifts for each other there; a gourd of chicha, some parchment and a quill, that type of thing. Little gifts for far-flung friends. When you settle, send someone north, and leave directions in that paver. Nothing too elaborate. No need for specifics, days travelled and which ways. Pointers so we may one day reunite. I'll check there every season, and we'll see each other again. When it rains wherever you civilize, know that I spread your story in the Valley.
======================
Naira's mouth curves slightly, forming the closest thing she could to a smile. Though bags lay beneath them, her eyes shine like sapphires, determined. "I guess I've decided already, h-haven't I?" Naira slumps against the wall, dipping slowly to a squat. A lump grows in her throat, catching her words, stopping her from asking more concerned questions. "These terrible days, what awful times for rain." The undine shakes her head, steadying her breath as she rose to her feet. She breathes in deeply. "May Ayida-Wedu watch over you. Under another sun, under kinder clouds that bring life with their rain, someplace far, far removed from here, I wish to one day share a smlle with you, priestess." ======================
"Tetch," she called out to the interim-chief-engineer. " Stop by the High Hall before you retire this night. I'll have something to run by you then." ======================
Small candles lit the Engineers' Office, and a map hung on the wall, now the only one remaining after the Undine's tidying. Long nights were common as she drafted projects, and tonight was no different. Here, maybe moreso than anywhere else in Shadeholme, an outsider wouldn't be able to tell that anything was different than it had been a month ago. New staff, they'd think, but still, the engineers tinker and plan within their domain. On her map, multiple routes traced from Shadeholme back to her city, each hitting a different series of small villages, landmarks, fresh water to stock up on food supplies. To take one route would be to abandon the others. It was more than just numbers - their chance of survival, their resources, their skills all weighed in Naira's decision as she dragged her charcoal pen, trying to see the few lives saved rather than the many lives sacrificed. Start small, she told herself. Smaller villages more distant from Te-Moak were likely safer to investigate with a smaller scouting party. Able bodies is what she needed to gather. They'd provide security, the means to form a larger group, and the ability to care for the sick, elderly, and wounded. Her path snaked it's way to Te-Moak. If she was to return, she'd do so with a plan, several rather, each with contingencies. A dead sorceress' blood means nothing, but what coursed through her now could save hundreds. Naira hardly noticed Tetchuix walk into the office. The Undine had hardly slept the last night, and so quickly it grew late. She glanced to the map, then to Tetchuix, aware she needn't explain the mission, that the map spoke for her mission. "Do you believe in fate, Tetch?" she let out in a whisper, arms crossed, one hand on her jaw, covering her mouth. She stared at her plan, her own answer to her question to the man clear in her eyes.
======================
Naira is silent as Nat speaks her story, but it is clear she wants to interrupt, wants to ask questions to undermine Nat's truths, to seize hope wherever it could be. Yet, she remains silent and shaken. "I was outside Shadeholme and saw something similar," the Undine confesses. "Our expedition was ambushed. Kentl. Isua." her voice becomes heavy, strained with each passing name, lingering on each of them, remembering some moment they shared. "Nashix. Shingles. Etel. Kentl and Isua passed quickly, but the others were alive when we fled to the boats." Naira paused. "Right, the sky, though. Much like the one you remember. It was far too late in the night for dawn, yet distant clouds above a raided Shadeholme were lined dim-orange." "I- I searched for their faces. Among the prisoners last morning, I mean. I dreaded it, finding one of them, locking eyes with one of my fellows. Imagine, just, looking up, knowing how fates, how, how it favored the ones who abandoned you. " Naira eyes water, and her hands brace her scalp. "I tried bartering their deaths for those prisoners. Like they owed us forgiveness for what they, for what they did." Her breathing is quick now. "I don't think I can live with, I, I can't leave my people behind again." Naira drags her hands across her face, wiping tears. "Even in the cinders, how, how can we know Te-Moak isn't different than here? If we head south, we, we leave behind whoever else struggles here."
==========
Naira rolled, restless in her sleep, eyes held tightly closed. ==========
She stood in the Chief’s office, a messy gathering of projects and proposals tacked on the walls, spread across the floor, blanketing each sizable surface. Apachana laughed as a Naira fruitlessly attempted to hang up a large canvas with nails too small to support it’s weight. When she secured a corner, it would fall before she could hang up the other side. Tetchuix was in the corner talking to Queho, she didn’t know they knew one another, but in this dream they mingled like old friends. Stubborn, Naira didn’t ask for help, and after several minutes of her efforts, she managed to hang up the canvas. It appeared to be a map, though it was not one familiar to her. The scale was much too large to be for just the city, indeed, the entire valley was in front of her. Something was off, however, in each of the cities on her map lay a small black blemish. With her nail, Naira scratched at Te-Moak’s marking. Her finger recoiled: it was hot, burning hot coals. The darnness spread, dancing across the map, swallowing the valley. From the cities now grew flames, and as she turned around, the entire room was burning. Like wax figures, those around her melted, screams distorted as they burned around her. Thick, suffocating smoke choked her as the large wooden rafters fell from the ceiling, splintering into sparks as they fell. As the roof collapsed, Naira sat curled up on the floor, miraculously unharmed as everything was reduced to cinders around her. The final flames at the ashen piles of her friends, but then, extinguished as it began to rain. The ash and coals became a dark, pooling sludge. Slowly it builds, the black flood up to her hips, then her neck, and finding herself unable to move, consumed her completely. ==========
Naira flailed in the viscous water, and was barely able to rise from the sludge. She was in Shadeholme now, drowning in the grove she sought to understand. As she dipped and pulled herself above to catch a breath, she swallowed the water. With each gulp, her lungs filled, and the sorceress felt more and more weighed down. Each breath became more hurried, and brought more of the corruption inside of her. She became her own anchor, unable to move from the center of the pond, bound as she slowly sank. With one final gasp, Naira went under, pulled deep down into depths impossible. ==========
Naira blinked, through her eyelids rose slowly. She appeared as if she had not slept, and though a conversation took place in the High Hall, she couldn’t quite recall what was being spoken about. She remained silent, contemplating. ==========
Naira weakly touches Nat on the shoulder. “You, um, Te-Moak,” the engineer begins, arm retreating. “You saw it happen, right? How did it, um, how did you... What did you see?”
============
Naira looked over the maps, laying each on the table one after the other, reading the scribbled notes that Shadeholme's engineers had left her. The Undine unclasped her scroll box, removing her personal maps. Those that she carried were more general than those left in the offices, and often remnants from the Engineer's own past projects. She laid them atop the others, inspecting them for some worth. A general map of the valley, one of her oldest, a hand-me-down she personally updated and maintained at her time at the Engineers' College. With a sigh, she dropped it to the floor. The ones she found were better, more detailed. Now was not the time to be prideful. A map of the village she was born, entirely drawn from memory. Naira stared at a small rectangle. Her farm, her home. A thin smile stretched over her lips, remembering the days when she danced in the rain. She rolled up the paper. If only for her, it still had value. A map depicting the effects of a proposed dam by Te-Moak. Naira fought tooth and nail for this project, it took her over year just to obtain permission to pitch the idea to her Chief Engineer. Useless. She swiped it, and it danced to the floor. A sketch of the fetish and the surrounding corruption of the grove. Perhaps Ashkesh could provide the answers she sought. Naira rolled it back up. The Undine stuffed as many scrolls as she could into the box. Of the ten papers, only two of her own personal items made the cut. She clasped the container shut, sealing it. ============
"Do not be sorry for what tragedies you report," she told the priestess. Naira's smile was fleeting. While sincere, the Undine tried her best to hide her dread. "Thanks to you, now more than ever, we are certain where we must go next."
Naira attempted to hide her devastation. Cornucopia, her home more than anywhere else, gone. How was it that they allowed it to be taken siege? Shadeholme she could understand, she reasoned with herself, but Cornucopia? Te Moak? These cities were, well, cities, and closer to the center of the Valley than Shadeholme was. They were supposed to be protected, their people were supposed to be safe. It had hardly been two weeks since she was sent from Te Moak. Dread crawled up her throat, choking the Undine. How much of the world had changed since she was gone? Could there only be but a handful of Engineer alive? The others talked up a storm in High Hall. Words could barely escape the Undine's lips, however, and instead, she searched the High Hall for whatever maps or documents that the engineers of Shadeholme had left for the Engineers of this new civilization that they intended on building to the south. When Imix called Nat an 'ill omen,' the engineer could not help but intrude. "And how am I different? Te Moak burns when I leave, Shadeholme crumbles when I arrive. Am I but another misfortune the Flame brings?" Naira smiles to the priestess, trying to reassure the woman. "I arrived not a week ago, most of my number ambushed and slain. Even then, the Suriname had beggers whom barely escaped with their lives, "prove" who we were to him. You're getting a proper Engineer's Welcome, it looks like." Turning to the Suriname, the Undine appears cold. She turns her attention back to the priestess, warming up. "Naira of the," she falters. If the lady told the turth, the Fox Mound was no more. It wasn't easy for her to skip over her first title. "Uh, Sorceress of Stream and Storm. Engineer," she states, "one of the last."
Unless anyone wants to rest or RP, I'll be moving forward into the Asylum either tonight or tomorrow evening. If you notice, I've put Sanity counters in my alias header. I strongly suggest you read the rules for Sanity, but I'll put some key notes below.
Depending how this works out, we may adjust the system. Particularly with enough time and a good divine caster, you can use restoration to cure many of these madnesses, which is rather strange to think about as we still have this Asylum that was open up until about a week ago.
Incredible props to Anarya, Ellena, and Tauni this fight. We had buffs, debuffs, and battlefield control out the wazoo there. We might've gone a bit too hard on them...
Hey all, I am terribly sorry about my disappearance. I had some family complications following Thanksgiving that made it hard for me to do much but work and spend time with my family members. We're all okay now, and we're all more or less picked up the pieces. Still, unforgivable that I didn't give notice when this all started, or provide some sort of update to you all. I feel terrible joining an honestly great game with wonderful players and not giving it the attention or piece of mind I owe it. So really, sincerely, sorry about my absence. It won't happen without warning again, I promise. I aim to be back on track with everything shortly. I aim to catch up by Tuesday night. Again, I am really happy you all have welcomed me so nicely into this game, I want to be here until the end :) -Rob
As the tide of the battle turned to their advantage, the fool shifted to the offensive. With scaled assailants on both of the dazed demon's sides, Franti started the attack. "Let's tear it down, Silver!" for , nonlethal. Foe is Bewildered, see spoiler.
The lizard dealt two devastating strikes, a hard swing to the side of the head, quickly followed by viscous blow to the other side. Debilitating Injury, Bewildered: The target becomes bewildered, taking a –2 penalty to AC. The target takes an additional –2 penalty to AC against all attacks made by the rogue. At 10th level and 16th level, the penalty to AC against attacks made by the rogue increases by –2 (to a total maximum of –8).
Wrath of the Righteous - On Ice!
============
Naira wanted to remain silent, to remain cool in front of the monk. She wanted to hold her head high, and act as though her pride was not tarnished. Several minutes of walking in silence, however, forced her to say something. "Gods, are they always like that?" she asked, "do they think their thoughts mean more because they sit in high halls? " The Undine shakes her head, trying to cast off her anger. "The Suriname says he cannot lead, though surely acts differently. The Shadow is our best option for a leader save the Suriname, though makes himself a puppet. And the last one, Drazan, I have little to say as he seldom speaks." The intense motions accompanying her speech further rip her clothing, inviting an audible sigh from the engineer. "Ist," she abbreviates, "over here so I may mend your outfit." Bringing her gloved hands to her own tattered clothes, the cloth stitches itself together, becoming whole once more. Naira held out her hands, inviting the the monk. "No honor in appearing as you do, hurry before my magic fades."
============
Naira drops her bag onto the mud, and through her concentration, halts the rain in the tainted grove. She removes several flasks of oil, a rod unworked metal, and a net from the twine belt hanging on her hips. She pours the oils into a bottle, and tosses the three empty flasks to Istiel. "We'll need samples, first and foremost. Water in the pond, its stream, and in regions with less contaminates. We'll need samples of the earth, better if they have small pieces of the life that was once here." Naira drew a piece of paper for the solids, though before continuing her orders looks at Istiel. "Umm, if your mask hinders you, ah, should I turn away? Engineers live rather sheltered lives, excuse me." Mechanics:
==========
Epigraph:
”The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.”
- H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu MAP: Briarstone Asylum Furnace Rooms The five stirred from their sleep, finding themselves in dimly lit cells in a place that must be beneath the ground. A man tied to a table in thick ropes howls in pain, harsh shadows forming over his pain-riddled face in the dim light. He struggled vainly, and by the countless cuts along his arms, legs, face and chest, seemed to have endured his torture for quite a while. “WAKE UP, DAMNIT, GET UP, S-SAVE ME, YOU NEED TO - ” The voice was interrupted by the man’s shrieks, as a woman, a doctor it seemed, dragged a scalpel over his thigh, and observed the skin splitting apart. She was unsettlingly thin, in blood soaked doctor’s robes once as white. She nodded slowly to herself, placing her instrument on a tray beside many tools like it, all coated in blood. Forks, a twisting wine screw, a trowel, broken glass, and hedge shears, though she decided to next use a pair of pliers. While the doctor had yet to notice the five that awakened, another did. Propped against the eastern wall, barely within the light provided by the hanging lantern above the operating table, a man stared at the waking party in silence. He wore plain brown clothes, and had vivid blue eye. As they all woke, he approached the cells that they were locked within, outside arm’s reach, and sized them up like a butcher to cattle. In the northern cells, he cared only for Pasiune, while both specimen in the southern cells kept his interest. The man smiled to himself, though kept his giddiness quiet. All but Ember and Gladiola: You feel a strange tingling in the back of your mind as the man glances at you. Rivas:
Your phantom lies currently within you. Your stats should reflect that at the moment. As you've yet to feel it's voice, perhaps you should not yet be able to summon it, though that is ultimately your decision.
Investigating in, and around Thom's place. That tainted grove will be the focus of my attention, seeing if I can determine an exact cause, or a way to undo what has been done. Fortify our defenses the best we can. Determine our lurking foes exact numbers, locations, so we can plan a proper retreat. Umm, I think that I want to follow up with Lady Bellet, That could be a friend I want to have.
Her clothes, now in ribbons from moths, had blackened from the mud. What wasn't darkened was covered by faded, rusty splotches from her blood. Sharp pains haunted her wounds, and the rest of her body consumed by a numbing ache. The mist condenses back to liquids as Naira staggers through the grove. She wipes a hand over her chest, palm red with blood. The rain washed it away. A smile crosses Naira's face. She was alive. Though her movements weary and sluggish, her mind races. Three vortexes, two over land! She nearly died yet her magic remained strong! The waters protected her, saved her from certain death, and perhaps doomed her three assailants. Naira disagrees with Oios' assessment. This desecration must be studied and understood. She was too beat, too sullen to disagree, however. The rain washed over her. What a terrible day for rain.
Naira calls back her vortex, passing it over the fallen Rigel, bringing it back towards Thom. She turned on her heel, facing the garrison captain, raising her hand to him. Once more, the rain held suspended, and gathered into thin streams, forming a storming, imposing whirlpool over the man. While her black vortex dances across the grove, the pure vortex rages in place. Mechanics:
Any creature entering this area must pass a DC 16 Reflex save or suffer bludgeoning damage equal to 1d8 +2 If the creature is smaller than the vortex, they must pass a second DC 16 Reflex save or be pulled into the middle of the vortex. Creatures in the middle of the vortex suffer bludgeoning damage once per round with no save, and must pass a Reflex save each round or be unable to move, and on a success may only move at half their swim speed. A vortex cannot contain more creatures than would exceed its volume.
And as Naira protects the waters, the waters protect her. Thom emerged from flame and lunged for the undine, what may have been a deadly cut instead glides off of her. Naira had not the time to be surprised by Thom's assault. The water was with her, what else was it's interference but a sign? Naira pivots deeper into the grove as Istiel engages the monstrous Thom. Her lips pout, and her brow scowls as she raises an arm. To bring more water to such a corrupted place displeased her, but she had to ensure this did not continue any longer. For a brief moment, the rain stops, every droplet held suspended in the grove. Then with a quick spinning motion by Naira they act. Unseen currents pull the droplets, they stream into one thousand thin rivers. The streams crash together forming a towering torrent of raging white-waters over Thom. The rain continues, Naira holds back a smile. The sorceress pushes her vortex through the grove, with or without Thom inside it. Her spiraling waters darken, brown-black now as they pick up the grove's corruption. Naira slams her vortex over Rigel, having it continue upstream towards the black pond. Mechanics: Any creature entering this area must pass a Reflex save (DC 16) or suffer bludgeoning damage equal to 1d8+2. If the creature is smaller than the vortex, they must pass a second Reflex save (DC 16) or be pulled into the middle of the vortex. Creatures in the middle of the vortex suffer bludgeoning damage once per round with no save, and must pass a Reflex save (DC 16) each round or be unable to move, and on a success may only move at half their swim speed. A vortex cannot contain more creatures than would exceed its volume.
Preparing to do a play-by-post game but this could help any GM. I really like that Zandalus had a patient record, and tried to make records similar for other NPC patients. When the time comes for the players to look over the patient records, I'll likely give them thirty or so patients, including those in the Chapel, Wren, named deceased, and even the players themselves. From there, they can read them at their leisure, and maybe resolve little side quests within them. Took some liberties with some of the NPCs, and going back to it later, I'll probably try to weave more little story elements in. Not all of them are done or included, but feel free to take this for your own game! Ulver Zandalus:
Patient Name: Ulver Zandalus
Description: Male of Varisian descent. Suspected age 47. Home suspeted to be Rozenport, Versex County. Committed: 2nd of Sarenith, 4685 Attending Doctor: Doctor Losandro Treatment: Therapy, antipsychotic reginmen, observation Development: 2/4687 - Patient proves to be a gifted and profilic artist. He has enthusiastically taken to using a charcoal drawing set to create dramatic but fanciful works of art, typically of surreal architecture and skyskapes. Art calms him in the wake of a nightmare. Patient will be afforded basic supplies to continue such therapy. Development: 11/4702 - A shift has occured in the patient's at. He has repeatable, almost perfectly illustrated one of the ancient standing stone situated in the northwest corner of the asylum grounds. As the isle's shores are off-limits for patients, I do not believe he has ever seen the subject of his work. The significance or coiuncidence of this brooks further study. Development: 3/4715 - Count Hasterton Lowls has taken an interest in the patient: first the art, now the artist. Lowls has been a repeat visitor, spending hours with my patient, but refuses to explain his interest. Had fun with Wren. Making the narrative that Dr. Scaen came onto him (had her call him "Wren" in her notes, rather than "patient"), and then later tried to blame him for her advances. Wren is definitely not straight in my mind ("defiant bachelorhood"), seeing his admittance like a thinly veiled conversion therapy. Wren Elbourne:
Patient Name: Wren Elbourne
Description: Male of Ustalavic descent. 27 years of age. Home in Ardeal, Soivoda County. Committed: 22nd of Arodus, 4716 Attending Doctor: Doctor Whitmarsh Treatment: Therapy, observation. Development: 8/4716 - Initial psychiatric evaluations reveal that Wren has issues with trust and commitment. Additionally, Wren displays a strong aversion to responsibilities. Daily therapy sessions recommended. - Dr. Scaen Development: 8/4716 - Patient has been transferred to the care of Doctor Whitmarsh following fraternization the Doctor Scaen. Patient to be prescribed medication to curb sexual desires, and is to continue therapy sessions. Development: Baisily Harbour:
Patient Name: Baisily Harbour
Description: Female of Kellish descent. 22 years of age. Home in Caliphas, Caliphas County. Committed: 14th of Neth, 4714 Attending Doctor: Doctor Scaen Treatment: Therapy, Behavior-Calming medications. Development: 2/4715 - While patient has shown significant improvments these last three months, their sleepwalking problem still persists. Patient no longer has night terrors, though should be monitored closely. Development: 4/4715 - Patient found inside courtyard at 02:45. Increasing dosage, investigating alternative medecine to halt sleepwalking. A short term paralysis agent administered at night may resolve patient's symptoms. Development: Having Bates' notes imply that his mute sister is stealing medication for him. Yopchick, Bates:
Patient Name: Yopchick, Bates
Description: Male of Varisian descent. 13 years of age. Committed: 1st of Erastus, 4715 Attending Doctor: Doctor Latchke Treatment: Medication, Physical therapy Development: 3/4716 - Patient has been without medication for two months now. Seizures, once thrice a day, now seldom occur! It appears weening the patient off their medication was a radical success! Development: 5/4716 - Patient was found with medication today, despite being taken off three months prior. It appears they've been medicated this entire time. Checking inventory, I found that small doses have been stolen periodically thoughout the year. I advise stricter monitoring of Mura Yopchick, as his half-sister, her motive is clear. Development: Rivercane, Juglan:
Patient Name: Rivercane, Juglan
Description: Committed: Attending Doctor: Treatment: Development: Development: Development: Poor Likelan brothers. Made the narrative that Brenton was cleared to leave, while his brother Debis would need to stay as he wasn't adjusting well. Lieklan, Brenton:
Patient Name: Lieklan, Brenton
Description: Male of Varisian descent. 9 years of age. Orphan. Committed: 19th of Abadius, 4716 Attending Doctor: Doctor Latchke Treatment: Observation Development: 4/4716 - With the exception of slight condition of nyctophobia and hemophobia, the patient has made an admirable recovery. Awaiting sibling's recovery, would prefer for the two of them to leave Briarstone together. Development: 8/4716 - Patient has been cleared for discharge. I can only hope that fate will reunite him with his brother following Debis' rehabilitation. An agent of an Ardis orphange should arrive in the first week of Rova to find a new family for the patient. Development: Lieklan, Debis:
Patient Name: Lieklan, Debis
Description: Male of Varisian descent. 10 years of age. Orphan. Committed: 19th of Abadius, 4716 Attending Doctor: Soctor Latchke Treatment: Medication, Therapy, observation. Development: 4/4716 - Patient's condition has deteriorated since their admittal. Frequently the patient experiences night terrors, and displays anti-social behavior. Patient is still too young to comfortably medicate. Development: 8/4716 - Patient's condition has somewhat improved since last development, though re-assimilation to the outside world is not advised. Redacting previous statement, starting patient on half dose of calming agents. Development: Foulkes, DaNae:
Patient Name: Foulkes, DaNae
Description: Female of Varisian descent. Fifty-three years of age. Home in Thrushmoor, Versex County. Committed: 4th of Gozran, 4715 Attending Doctor: Doctor Oathsday Treatment: Observation, therapy Development: 11/4715 - Patient is recovering. As visitors come to her less and less, her condition appears to improve. With Doctor Losandro's approval, the patient has checked out numerous tomes from the Briarstone Library. Development: 4/4716 - A note to the orderlies: please do not allow the patient to select her own books. While texts on history and local legends are fine, a patient should not be reading texts on the disorders we treat. Development: Ulsohen, Loic:
Patient Name: Ulsohen, Loic
Description: Male of Varisian descent. Thirty-eight years of age. Home in Korvosa, Varisia. Committed: 9th of Pharast, 4698 Attending Doctor: Doctor Scaen Treatment: Observation, therapy Development: 4/4705 - Despite patient's claim that he no longer hears voices, several orderlies have now heard the patient speaking to individuals unseen. Increasing the patient's medication, and alerting all orderlies to keep an ear out for future symptoms. Development: 5/4710 - Doctor Trice came to examine the patient. Despite his diagnosis that the voice in the patient's head is "benevolent, if not supporting of Loic," we at Briarstone cannot allow an afflicted patient to be discharged. The patient will be under close observation, but as all treatments have failed, we will no longer be medicating the patient. Development: Kostenbau, Maeve:
Patient Name: Kostenbau, Maeve
Description: Female of Kellid descent. Nineteen years of age. Home in Whitethrone, Irrisen Committed: 29th of Lamashan, 4713 Attending Doctor: Doctor Whitmarsh Treatment: Observation, therapy Development: 6/4715 - Patient admitted that she has been making up stories about her childhood trauma in attempts to get attention. Who would believe all those tales about witches and crones. It seems that her isolation therapy had the intended effect. Development: 2/4716 - Patient was found creating ritual circles with chicken bones. Increasing medication. Such activity may provoke our more erratic patients. Development: Yopchick, Mura:
Patient Name: Yopchick, Mura
Description: Female of Varisian descent. Twenty-seven years of age. Committed: 11th of Desnus, 4704 Attending Doctor: Treatment: Development: 10/4710 - Patient seems able to speak, she responds audibly to pain, though for whatever reason refuses to. While this is an instituition of science, I wonder if magical tampering may coerce our patient to talk? Development: 7/4715 - Patient's father dropped another at our gates today. It seems she has already become protective of her half-brother, despite none of our staff alerting either to their relation. Will investigate further. Development: Mears, Jeprin:
Patient Name: Mears, Jeprin
Description: Male of Chelish descent. Twenty-nine years of age. Committed: See Page 40 Attending Doctor: Treatment: Development: Development: Development: Freeling, Vera: Patient Name: Freeling, Vera
Description: Female of Varisian descent. Sixty-two years of age. Committed: See Pages 40 Attending Doctor: Treatment: Development: Development: Development:
Naira breathed in deeply, looking up towards the blackened clouds she conjured. She allowed it to continue to pour. The rain gave her solace. It washed the blood off her arms and clothes. It provided noise, something to combat the silence. Between her fellow engineer's dying during their expedition, the situation at Shadeholme, and the assault of the moths, Naira felt everything slipping from her control. How long could she live amidst frozen, skin-stealers, and strange magics? Everything seemed so far beyond the control she had just yesterday. Everything, but the rain. Naira walks towards the well, looking down it. Naira had no need for the light, peering down but not seeing what the monk spoke of. In her storm, the water had risen, and still it rises. "Perhaps they monitored the rainfall here." Noticing the spirals of the waters, Naira rips a shredded tatter from her garb. She drops the cloth to the water, watching as it is pulled into the eddy, flowing towards the well's wall before disappearing - pulled though the wall into somewhere. "Your engineer's built this poorly, the water leaks, perhaps to a grotto." Naira pauses, remembering Istiel's claims of screams. "Or," with a frantic wring of her arm, the rain lightens, then stops altogether. She sounds bleak, a little shaken."The waters flows to a hidden passage. Not unheard of. With the storm and recent rain, it may be flooded. You, um, there may be people down there." Drowning, she finished in her head.
One of my player's is interested in playing a Spiritualist. Since they are amnesiac, they asked that I choose the Phantom for them. Can I run an idea by you all about their phantom? Phantom: Idea: the player's phantom is a reflection of their "past" self that the player doesn't remember. After being "wiped" to the fugue state, a ghostly, warped version of their past personality clings to them - their phantom. Of course, the phantom doesn't remember who they are either, it's flavor of not recalling its past coincidentally fits the fugue state the player is in.
Could take it many ways for the character - the phantom is protecting the body it still sees as its own (Despair? Jealousy?) . Perhaps it seeks to redeem the wrongs it had in life after a glimpse on what awaits on the other side (Fear? Remorse?). Hatred emotional foci are described as possibly "dark and dreadful knights, their armor bristling with spikes and their hands seeming to grasp barbed and terrible weapons." I'm imagining the reveal that underneath this armor, under the helmet, the player's face is reflected here, showing their shared fates and bodies, perhaps this reveal saved for when the players first uncover their names - the phantom now remembers who it was, who it now is, and what their relation to the player is. What do you all think?
Naira spews like a faucet. "C-Cold? I - No, I- I've never - Water, just water!" Imix: Mechanically, yes, yes I can. And this KILLS ME, but in character, Naira has yet to use her powers to: Freeze water, create winds, raise the temperature, lower the temperature. All within her domain, but she has not the training to even know that she can do such things. Water and rain come naturally from her ancestry, the others I am waiting for proper story events to bring them to light, develop naturally.
Franti's Story: The soldiers and crusaders left their tables to return to their operations. Some were to start their sentry shift, while others prepared to return to the ruins of Kenabres. Others still were now ready to sleep, to take part in their brief respite before returning to risk their lives to save those in Defender's Heart and the city at large.
Franti, amidst a more relaxed, less scarring rendition of one of his favorite Ustalavic children’s tale, was left almost by himself within the Inn. His stories had occupied much of his time, and he only picked lightly at his meal between his tales. Defeated, he sighed, leaned in over his plate and began to eat the now-cold meal. At a table close-by Franti, another man was left alone after the change in shifts. He wore lighter armor than most of the crusaders, and his blade was thinner than most, a rapier it seemed. He rose from his seat, food in hand, and sat down opposite Franti. Without a word, the soldier began to eat. The fool looked up briefly. The soldier was a couple weeks unshaven, with neck-length brown hair pushed back behind his ears. Hanging from his neck was a copper chain, with a small silver pendant resembling an ale glass. A symbol of Cayden Cailean, even the fool knew that. In silence the two of them ate for a minute. Mouth full, the man spoke, voice like gravel. “What happens to him?” The fool coughs out a response, food stuck in his throat: “Wh-What?” It’d been several minutes since his story ended abruptly, his tale was no longer on his mind. A piece of chicken is cut on the soldiers plate, still too large to consume. The crusader attempts to eat it anyway. “The story. Boy was hangin’ from a tree, fox and cat waitin’ for death to greet him. What happens to him?” “Well,” Franti started up again, “do you want the fool’s version of the story or the classic rendition?” Silence. Well," Franti continues, "the traditional storyteller would tell you the boy was strangled to death, corpse left hanging until the ravens picked at his skin and sinew enough to slip his carcass through his noose. They’d tell you the boy’s tale ends there, and it’s a warning to children to listen to their father.” The fool smiles, waiting for a response, for the prompt to tell his version of the story. Again, silence. The warrior spooned gruel into his mouth. Franti’s face fell, and his spoon lowered back into his plate. After another minute of quiet, the warrior spoke again - “Not a good ending now, was it?” Immediately Franti pushed his plate aside, the fool grinning wide and animated. “Not at all! That is why I re-wrote it! Tripled it’s length! I added a mother figure, fey, animal doctors - animals who are doctors, not doctors for animals - even changed the meaning of the story! A much better tale for the young ones, if I do say so myself.” The soldier’s plate was almost empty now. He pushed together the scraps to form piles large enough to fit on his fork, wolf it down, then begin the process again. “That why you changed it?” Franti opened his mouth to answer “of course, it's a story for them!” though stopped before he uttered so much as a syllable. Was it though? While Franti had never liked the ending of the story proper, his version had such a great appeal to him. “No,” the fool let out, “I like mine better is all.” He started to think why. Was it the journey of self-discovery the boy had on his adventure? Was it the happy ending the fool forced upon the story? Was it the fact that he wrote it himself, that it was now his story than someone else’s? The soldier finished his food, looked up at Franti for the first time and nodded. He rose from his seat, plate in hand and left the fool with his thoughts. And then he returned, a bottles of wine stashed between his arm and chest and a red-stained glass in each hand. He pours a cup and gestures a glass to Franti. At the fool’s refusal, the man pours a second glass for himself. “So what happens to the boy?” Franti beams. “The noose grows tighter, his last breath upon him! As his visions wavers, and his final prayers are cast, the boy spies an eagle and chokes out a distressed call -”
Approved! 20 Point buy it is. I realize a paladin would suffer immensely, so your skin was saved, Hroth. I'll adjust things as we see necessary. Seems like we are the full five players which is wonderful! My book is expected to arrive on Friday, which means I'll have the weekend to pour through it! Should there be anything important to note that perhaps the player's guide didn't cover, I'll be alerting you all here. I'll be reviewing my copy of Rule of Fear (got for Franti!) to familiarize myself more deeply with Ustalav. When we get to the nitty gritty character creations, I'll bring things up such as regional languages.
Legitimately defeated by that turn of event. Feel like I need to reset my smile counter after that...
As the others caught up with friends, fellow warriors, and the faithful, Franti disappeared. Before anything else, Franti took up Irabeth's offer to clean-up. Despite the day not being over, his face was well-smudged. The fool gave a large effort to making himself appear as grand as ever: his face became a painting of bright blues and gold hues, he re-attached the bells onto his hat and shoes, and he wore his holy symbol on his chest for all to see. Franti had wanted to appear as more than a fool, however. In the company of crusaders, and to back up whatever stories of his exploits he was to tell, he also wanted to look like a warrior. On each hip he wore two weapons, a cold-iron dagger and a sap. He wore both of his quivers, thirty-three arrows both sharp and blunt on his back, and crossed his bow over his shoulder. His bandolier was freshly stocked, filled with a myriad of tools for both soldier and joker alike. His outfit was washed of stains, and stitched of any holes. His wig was combed and curled. Franti was ready. When he decided to eat, Franti was the most boisterous and crass person at the table. He told jokes louder than anyone else, and strived for the attention of any listener. Each story was more wild than the last, each almost equal parts truths and fabricated stories. It was the obligation of the fool - he had to tell tales larger than life, he had to laugh the longest, shout the loudest, smile the widest, if only to make a single other forget what was going on outside these walls for mere moments. "So this mayor of Neatholm was wider than he was tall! And somehow, his heart was even larger! It turns out our arrival was some sort of prophesy! In the stories, it always is though, isn't it? I tell you, friends, this is no story!" "- Then she STABBED me! My own buddy! That means that ol' Irabeth is in good hands though, Anevia'll fire out a shot before she knows if it's friend or foe! In this case, friend, yes, but I've long since forgiven our lame lady." "You see Wendy, the mongrelwoman over there? With the help of our little blonde brigade she renounced darkness! Any crusader can vanquish evil, but only the greatest ones can redeem them! Now she is practically a paladin, the gods are practically murdering each other to decide who'll get her though!" "And there was this little dragon man! He wasn't a problem, oh not at all, but he hid the largest, most terrifying viper on him! It must have been at least ten feet long, thicker than a knotted coil of rope! With the help of Horgus Gwerm - imagine him fighting, a crazy story in itself! - I managed to slay the dreaded dire-snake!" "-The most beautiful woman you could imagine, my friend! She waits for me in the tallest tower in the largest castle in Ardeal! My love, my countess-to-be, my Lady Opaline." The fool skipped over any meats and stews as he ate, either respectfully passing the dishes along, or leaving them untouched if given to him. Despite his behavior, not a drop of alcohol touched his lips, and he was quick to make a little gag or performance out of being passed the wine rather than actually drinking it.
This is fairly comprehensive, and seems to be all first party. So long as it fits with an amnesiac person, it works for me. Like, Lovesick would be weird to have, but Doubt would work fine. Noted on the point buy. I would like to look over that first book before I finalize that however.
I'd really love to, its just a matter of feasibility with the rest of my life. I am a recent college graduate and this will be my first full time job, though if it works out, I'd be honored to. I'll get back to you all in a month or so about it, don't get too psyched (psychic pun?) yet.
On Strange Aeons: Okay, so I read the player's guide, and it certainly does appeal to me. Truth be told, I was planning to GM a horror (albeit more Southern Gothic, backwoods-y kind of horror) game with amnesiac protagonists in a homebrew setting very similar to Ustalav. I actually have the recruitment PbP page drafted from a while ago somewhere in my google drive in case I ever wanted to run it, but have wanted to get on my feet before I add anything to my plate.
So it is the type of game that I'd like to GM, and probably challenges Kingmaker, Hell's Vengeance, and Curse of the Crimson Throne for adventure paths I most want to run. I start a job on Tuesday, but if I'm not overly burdened and if I have the time outside the games I am already in or running, I'd be willing to DM the AP. By the end of September, I imagine I'll have a more solid grasp on if I'll be able to run it or not.
========
It pours where Naira walks, black clouds forming above her, trailing her as she seeks a spot to properly clean. The beige clothes that form her dress now appear burgundy, her hands stained burnt umber. The engineer finds a quiet spot to herself. Thick droplets pelt the streets of Shadeholme. In her storm, confident that the rain would make it difficult to pry, Naira removes her dress and wrings the lingering blood. She wonders whose blood that trickles off her into the growing puddles, Alma's or the Skin-Stealer? It dilutes until it is like a mere drop in a lake, carried in streams to the canals, taking it far away from the engineer. Naira smiles as she dons her outfit once more. A skin-stealer! A legend! Something that she has seen (studied and dissected now!), that Queho has only told stories of! Have others ever been able to identify how a skin-stealer takes the skin? Was her new knowledge over this creature groundbreaking? Naira laughs to herself as her storm subsides. She had a report to make, and a hell of a good one at that. ========
After finding Tetchuix, Naira debriefs. She presents it all to the interim-Chief engineer same as she would to her Chief in Te-Moak. She explains her findings in detail, provides quick sketches of the skin-attaching mechanism, and muses on possible methods to test for certain whether one was a skin-stealer without killing them or relying on another's testimony. Towards the end of the report, she ceases formality. "Sure going to make the other Engineers jealous when they learn their little rain-caller is also a monster hunter." She straightens up in jest, giving a quick salute, "alright, what're the orders, Chief?"
Sighing, Naira stands, covered in blood and viscera. You all are about to give up, when the engineer notices something. Leaning in, the woman's nose practically in contact with Alma's arm, Naira pulls back a flap of previously cut skin... I'm just going to pretend I saw nothing and be like, well, good job murdering this woman.
move into flanking You're an angel, you know that? When was the last time I had a proper TWF sneak attack? Chaleb? Oh this is going to feel SO good.
Father of Waters Noir CUT TO: EXT. BAUNTI CITY - THIRD STREET - NIGHT NAIRA (22) walks the streets, passing under the street light. She disappears as she walks into the darkness, appearing shortly under the next street light. She puts a cigarette into her mouth as she walks, entering darkness. The lighter sparks. She emerges under the lamp. It begins to rain. Naira (V.O.)
The lighter sparks a few more times. It begins to pour. She sighs, puts away her cigarette and begins to hustle. Naira (V.O., CONT'D)
EXT. BAUNTI CITY - ALLEY - CONTINUOUS Naira turns the corner into an alley. She presses against the wall, squatting to the ground. Free from the rain, she takes out her cigarette once more. Naira (V.O., CONT'D)
The LIGHTER FLICKS. Again. The cigarette lights the third time. Naira takes a drag. Naira (V.O., CONT'D)
EXT. BAUNTI CITY - THIRD STREET - CONTINUOUS Naira goes back to the street, hand over her lit cigarette. Her hair and clothing sticks to her. Naira (V.O., CONT'D)
Naira passes by shadows surrounding a burning trashcan. Men whistle and call. She ignores them. Naira (V.O., CONT'D)
Naira's silloutte begins to glow faintly. A scantily clad neon woman flickering between provocative poses lies above a sign crawling up a building's corner. Naira's last word reveals the sign's text. Naira (V.O., CONT'D)
FADE OUT.
Creating a two 5 foot cubes of water is 250 cubic feet, or +1800 gallons, or +15,000 pounds of water. We really should be more concerned with drowning over dehydration should we go on adventures away from the river/canals.
Naira sighs. A skin-stealer, just like the one in the story Queho once told her. Lives were at risk with beings of legend, and she was stuck beside a priest conducting mere tradition. "Right," she begins, "how could I forget." The Undine bows to the priest after her introduction. He means well, and she reminds herself that she should be honored. She takes the cup, places it on the ground, closes her eyes, and breathes deeply. Her hands come together at her center, finger intertwined. In a quick wave, her fingers rise, and the hands split apart. Her hands go out and back in, out and back in, ebbing, flowing like a tide she has never seen. The rain lightens at the pavilion. It becomes a drizzle, then a thick mist, then nothing. The engineer grabs the cup at her feet and empties the chalice of the rain water. Water was water, what she conjured was as pure as what came from the clouds, there wasn't a difference. For the sake of the priest, and perhaps to those that needed the hope in the crowd, she used her powers to their fullest, and made a spectacle of the rite. Her arm extends to her side, and with a twirl, comes into her shoulder. Her leg glides out, the other following as she turns. With her quick dance, water appears as suspended droplets. Hundreds at first, though in seconds thousands, millions, uncountable beads hanging in the sky. In a single moment, they come together: a torrent of nearly two thousand gallons swirling in front of her in large vortex. She hold out the chalice, collecting the stray droplets that escaped the land-treading whirlpool in front of her. As the ceremony continues, the water follows behind her, swirling like an infinite raging river. Mechanics: Quelling rain and maintaining that through concentration. After precipitation lowers from 3 to 1, Use spell point to Create Water (2 squares, or 250 cubic feet), and an additional spell point to form and maintain a vortex.
Use concentration to keep rain at bay, move action to direct vortex, move action to walk as needed.
Very few survive the fireball. Ten guests drop to the floor, no longer moving as the flames disappear. Romane Viuexpont appears to have endured the spell, her once wonderful white dress now in tatters. She dashes out of view from those inside. Darius Agnes seems strangely unharmed by the spell, somehow managing to avoid the fireball entirely. He looks to the streets, skyward, while drawing a dagger. He throws it into the air, south. One of the Mercenaries took a defensive position at the moment of the explosion. They rise, spear ready. Inside the warehouse, the guests scramble. Jean-Christophe continues to cast his spell, and the spymaster rambles on, telling everyone to run once more. Reyes and Augustine dash towards each other. They slink to the counter, placing themselves behind it with Rosalie and Silas, who had similar ideas. Sibylle drinks a potion. She disappears, vanishing magically as she downs her vial. Evelynn lets out a curse, dashing outside, weapon in hand. Gaston jumps atop his pony, dashing through the warehouse at breakneck speeds. Vincent keeps his post by the mirror, his glance shifting between the scene outside and the mirror. He puts his knife down for a moment, drawing a potion and taking a quick swig. Gerard yells out his sister's name. He sprints toward the southern door, towards the fireball and his sister. Beatrice is one of many who let out a shriek. She looks to Marcus. "Wha-Wh-What, what do we - we do?" Verrill takes a drink of a potion, and draws a thin blade from his sleeve. The ratfolk looks frantic as his focus darts to a new subject each second. Mirabelle hides by one of the tables by the door. Her hands go to her head as she falls to her knees. Estelle and an elven man walk towards the crates by the southern exit. The elf jots quickly into a notebook. Combat: Round One, bolded factions have acted, OOC ones have not. HOSTILE FORCES:
GUESTS:
PARTY (AND LUCIA) MERCENARY GUARDS
Behind the Screen, Don't Open: ,
, none. ,
,
And here I thought I was helping to administer an exotic Minkai poison like the one that killed Mrs. Mi...
Franti rolled his eyes at Tauni's first exclamation. It isn't fiendish, it's just red, he thought. Regardless, the goblin swiped his saps at the newly present foe, even more newly disappeared foe, finding only the air. "Unseen!? Where did our froggy friend disappear to, Little Rabbit?"
Ah, none of my friends have a copy, and it isn't as cheap as I'd like it to be. I'll need to wait for an amazon sale. I've been reading the Player Companion "Spymaster's Handbook" that came out recently, and I keep thinking how good it could be in a game like this. It has a collection of useful magical items, spells, traits/drawbacks, and some neat additions to the Vigilante class. I could see Vance finding some use for it when we become agents of the queen, and I'll need to keep the book in mind if something manages to kill Justimar. The number of spare character concepts I have for this game is rather excessive, I think this or Kingmaker might be the first Paizo adventure path that I DM in due time. @Arruk, Yeah, Justimar is an ass. Sometimes I genuinely feel bad typing what would go through his mind. It only is worse knowing that he was born poor and only in the past few years became noble and took on (or amplified) these traits. Still, big plans for you, my boy ;) GM knows what I'm talking about. I like to imagine he is still Neutral somewhere deep inside, and that family (both old and new) will bring about some of major moral dilemmas. I think on our next payment, I'll secretly send some gold back to my old family in Westcrown in a cryptic note. Maybe try to have Justimar convince himself that he was doing it all for them, when everyone knows that hasn't been the case.
Justimar was wide eyed throughout most of Arruk's speech. Foreign affairs? Legitimacy? Edification? The noble never imagined such things coming from the half-orc's mouth. Was it an act or had Justimar and the others been played these last few days? A portal appears in front of Justimar's hound, the dog walking through it, returning to its domain without waiting for the dumbstruck noble to let it free. The summoner glanced at the shirt on the table, then back to Arruk with a grin. "I've never been so pleased to be bestowed a gift that I truly, sincerely did not desire. Splendid, my boy. Let us leave, and pray we needn't return." He left the gold coins on the ground as he paced to the exit. ----- Outside the Last Stand, Justimar turned to his servant, instructing her curtly to relocate herself and his other belongings to the Ash House. He gave her a single gold coin, asking her to secure the cleaning agents necessary to make his jacket spotless once more.
"There've been many of your kind within our numbers. I can't think of a more noble Purpose than to guide these waters." The Undine reaches into her bag, removing a gridded slate board and several pieces of multi-colored chalk. Next, she removes an abacus. The engineer begins to write, first jotting down the variables given to her by Imix. She can do the initial calculations in her mind, but for multiplying the circle's constant, and converting paces to gallons, she relies on the chalk and the abacus. After around thirty seconds, she drops the chalk. Her gaze flickers up at her examiner, and she smiles lightly. Had it been different circumstances, she would provide a false answer, and turn the examination into a test of her own. Naira reminds herself of Sarre's words, these were "dire times." "Nearly fourteen thousand seven hundred gallons," she asserts, "check the numbers yourself, Suriname." After her test, she turns to the monk. "I don't know your numbers, but I believe they could, yes. Should they, though, is a matter above me." Mechanics: Paces ~ 2.5 feet. (pi* (2*2.5)^2 *(20*2.5) )/2 would be volume in cubic feet. ~1963 cubic feet, or ~14688 gallons.
Justimar watched the coins fall from the counter. One gold piece had quite the journey, rolling across the swill-soaked planks of the inn, dancing between tables, avoiding stools, before ending its voyage as it collided with the wall opposite the bar. Justimar sighed, looking at the others with a nod. Arruk had the right idea. "Twice now you've misspoke, Caggan." The noble snapped his fingers. A flat, glowing circle appeared by his side. "Archbaron Fex." He turned away from the counter, looking to those that gathered. He spoke loud and clear beside his shimmering, runic portal. "Patrons of the Last Stand: In accordance with the newly instituted mandates of Archbaron Fex, and her Infernal Majestrix, Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, you are to leave this establishment. By their decree, none within Longacre shall gather publicly in numbers greater than six. "By my count, there are five agents of Longacre present." Justimar doesn't acknowledge his slave. Her role in this count was a matter of semantics. "As such, all sans one are required by law to leave this building." The noble waved his hand, sheathing it behind his back. A hound emerged from the portal, brown and black, snarling. "You have ten seconds to decide who among yourselves may stay. Should it be longer, our Hound and Orc will select who may remain." The noble turned to Bolgart. "A shame, Caggan, that you refused my friendly offer. The Leroung family is known for their generosity, and you spat upon it." He smiled thinly at the man before turning back to the crowd. "Ten," he began, soft-spoken. "Nine... Eight..."
A solid plan B, though let's not make it senseless. This is a private establishment, thus, this is a private gathering. We have five agents, force everyone but Caggan to leave as by law there can only be six. Outnumbered that much, he will concede to our threats. We won't need to beat him up (though perhaps should if he does tear it down). However we do this, we should not give in. Let Longacre know that it has new Sheriffs in town, and we won't hesitate to act.
Naira, a quick check with Chukix by any of the PCs will give the information that there are currently no engineers in Shadeholme. It is assumed they were all out on surveys the morning of the attack, save Matla, and haven't been seen since. Sweet! I'll go ahead and add "Interim Chief Engineer of Shadeholme" to my resume ;) |