Gregor the Barkeep's page

Still filling in the details for the rebuild (I think I understand the demi-gestalt rules), but obviously wanted to dot in with my Avatar. I am going Alchemist / DG Brawler... Brewer first, Boxer second!

Storm Dragon, Oblivion said before you only gain spellcasting from your primary class, not your subclass. That's why I went Alchemist primary, with Brawler as my subclass (as opposed to the opposite). Spending a boon feat grants you access to the subclass's spell list to use with your primary class's spell slots, not the subclass' casting itself. So, I *think* you could go Vigilante (Zealot) as your primary, then pick up Warlock (and another if you'd like) as your sub. You could then spend a Boon Feat to add the Warlock's spell list to the Zealot's, and then spend boon feats to gain the Mystic Bolt ability.

Hmm, I wonder if I could be the barkeep?

1 - Broken Broadsword - a tavern needs a barkeep!
2 - Stonefall - vikings like their ale
3 - You Get a Kingdom - every new kingdom starts with a tavern

Thinking about it, couldn't Another night at the Broken Broadsword essentially be all the other seven adventures? I mean, if something new happens every night, these could all be stories within the story.

Gregor scratches his head while running his hand through his shaggy hair, "Doctor, you are right. Wait, where is that crazy talking bird? They have good eyes, perhaps he can figure it out. Either that, or I go back to the Inn and grab that shady guy sitting in the corner, with a hood over his head and a pipe in his mouth. They say his name in... Strider... I dunno, maybe he can help..."

Gregor stumbles out of the back of the Corner Inn, shaking his head a bit. Seeing his friends in the alley behind the granary, he warily hurries over to join them. "By the gods, my head is hurting. Got into a bit too much of the grog, my apologies. We still searching for the flue hag?"

Noticing the footprints the others are staring at, he gives it a look as well.

survival (untrained): 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (12) - 1 = 11

Sure that people are functioning alright despite the loss of awareness, Gregor returns to his companions. "So how do we find this thing? Xavante, are they known to layer in certain places?"

Gregor stumbles downstairs later than anticipated. At the sight of the large, confused crowd, he smiles. Another day, another round of business... He quickly gets to work pouring ale and wine, whilst calling back orders to the kitchen behind. As his companions from the night before begin to collect at the bar, he begins to inquire what they have learned from the townsfolk this morning.

"Doctor, I doubt you have been affected, not a wisened professional such as yourself. Seems only us were kept from this harm, perhaps the assailant attacked while we were defeating the foul ratfolk?!"

Gregor smiles, "Depends what ye'd be seeking fer accommodations? Normally floor space in the attic to pass out is 4 copper, sure we can wave that. If ye'd like to split a room with another, it'll be 6 silver each. And if ye'd be thinking bout a private room, 1 gold."

Gregor shrugs, "What ye do with the babes is yer own decision, but the adventurer's life ain't no place for children. So, I'd suggest ye either retire, or find some lovely lass to raise them for ye." Gregor takes one last scan of the cave before preparing to depart.

perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6

perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

Gregor looks to his allies, smiles, "Once more into the darkness..." and he descends into the caves, seeking the source of the vile ratlings.

A frothy mug of ale appears in Gregor's hand and he chugs it down in one healthy gulp. "HAZAAAA!" He casually scoops up a handful of coins, knowing it to be precisely his share of the 1200 gp (240gp).

Looking to the others, he reaches into his pouch and pulls something small out. Opening his hand he reveals a burning stone in his palm, though his skin does not burn. He tosses it into the air above his shoulder, at which point it starts orbiting his shaggy head. "Shall we head in?"

fortitude: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

Gregor dances, flails, and shakes, trying to knock the rats off him. Realizing he is still carrying the hoe he picked up back at the farm, he smiles and swings. "Time to do a little trimming, me thinks." He swings the hoe up and down, trying to crush as many of the rodents as possible.

melee vs swarm: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (3) + 9 = 12
damage: 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

Watching the flaming ratling get shot in its bitty parts, Gregor smiles. Looking ahead to the rats swarms charging at them, he pulls a weathered sable fedora from his pack. Placing it on his heads, he grimly says, "Rats, I hate rats", then casts another one of his bombs at the approaching rat swarms.

ranged touch: 1d20 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 5 + 1 = 16
damage, fire: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9 swarm 1, 13 dmg. swarm 2, 6 dmg, refl dc 14 for half

sorry, I should have clarified alchemist's bomb. it does 9 fire damage to the ratling it hit (ranged touch, no save). All adjacent targets take splash damage, which is the minimum die roll, reflex dc 14 for half (4 dmg, 2 on successful save). Swarms take 1.5x damage from splash weapons (6 dmg, or 3 on a successful save).

Hearing, but not yet seeing, his approaching foe, Gregor grabs a strange bottle of some alcoholic beverage. He deftly stuffs a rag in it and lights it, preparing to toss it at his foes once they reach his sight.

"How about a drink for the rodents?"

ready an action to toss a bomb at the ratlings as they emerge[/b]

ranged touch: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15
damage: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9 [ooc]reflex DC 14 for half damage on the splash

initiative: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

Gregor laughs at the Macaw's dairy inspired words. Raising his mug, he proclaims, "Well said, my fine feathered friend. But what is that I hear? Think you successfully summoned the ratmen to us! Be at the ready!"

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

Gregor shrugs at Wil's words whilst they move into the woods. Looking back over his shoulder at the rest of the band loitering in the farm, he calls back, "Hey all, ye coming to join us? Or, are ye just waitin' for me to return with the ale? Let's get a move on!"

He turns back to Wil and Daniel, then looks down toward the tracks...

knowledge (nature): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25

... as he does, he unclasps a strange mug for his belt, then smiles as he shakes it. It Suddenly fills with a robust, frothy ale. He gulps it down in one raise of the mug as he continues to look at the mess of rodent footprints. His eyes begin to grow wide and brighter, and he turns back to his companions.

"Why yes, I do recall a piper, who liked to eat pie. He told me that rats like to move about under cover if possible. Perhaps if we move some of these fallen branches a new clue will be revealed?" As he says this he picks up several large oak branches...

Gregor smiles as the memory comes back to him. "Ratlings, yes, vile little rat people. Like rats, and people, put together. A rat-human cocktail if you will. Will, I have your back! Lead on!"

Walking across the farm behind Will, Gregor picks up a hoe that was laying in the soil and rests it on his shoulder. Reaching the trees, he looks to his companion, "Where now?"

Gregor sees the Doktor work on the 'unconscious' patron. Noticing the blood pooling beneath the man, he frowns. By Cayden's sweaty armpit, I walloped 'im good. Perhaps too good. Canno' have a patron dying on me... Reaching into his pouch, he pulls out a bottle with a vile looking brew in it. He pours it down the man's throat, curing him of most of his wounds, then returns to his grand quest.

Potion of Cure Light Wounds: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5
heals 5 lethal and 5 nonlethal

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Gregor looks about the battered farm. "Bloody shame, all this lost. We'll get to the bottom of it." At Wilbert's words, "Big rat tracks you say? Hmm, seems like something that rings in the back of me mind...."

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20
Know(arcana): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18
Know(nature): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (15) + 7 = 22

Hearing the sound of fighting in the Corner Inn erupting just as he departs, he steps back through the door and sees the shirtless map striking the budding Don Juan. "HEY! NO FIGHTING IN THE CORNER INN!" Gregor bellows mightily.

Picking up a stool, he swings at the man's back, hoping to knock him out with a single punch.

attack, nonlethal w/ power attack: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (20) + 8 = 28
confirmation: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

assuming the 16 confirms on the drunken townsfolk

crit damage(nonlethal): 2d6 + 12 ⇒ (2, 5) + 12 = 19

The stool splinters as its strikes the man in the back, knocking the wind from his chest and the wit from his head, sending him tumbling through a table and to the ground.

Turning to the rest of the taproom, "My apologies ladies and gentlemen, nothing to see, just a drunkard who decided to get violent and had to be dealt with. Now, let the revelry resume."

diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

Pointing to Aineyr, "Hey Casanova, let's get a move on. It's far easier to romance the ladies AFTER you are a hero."

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Gregor furrows his eyebrow and looks toward the man making his way for the door. Loudly clearing his throat, "Happy to follow you to your place and hunt for this nocturnal horror. There is just the small issue of your tab before we set off... Care to settle it?" He extends his big, meaty hand awaiting payment.

diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16

As the townsfolk pays, he takes off his apron and folds it, then picks up a large bundle of gear before walking out the door behind him.

----

Appearing on the other side of the door, he is suddenly clad is chain shirt armor and a stout leather vest, with several weapons hanging from his belt and his sack now unfurled as a pack of equipment on his back. always love how that doorway takes care of that for me... Gregor smiles as they set off on their grand adventure.

Gregor pours a mug of an especially thick, dark beer then places it before Wilbert. "call this one Deeperdark's Depths. It is a dwarven stout aged in granite casks. Notes of coffee, cocoa, and a hint of anise, with a nice earthiness."

He goes about pouring drinks for his new acquaintances, as well as the entering townsfolk. He even whips up a frothy milk beverage for Small Tom. After everyone is attended to and the wenches are getting the guests their food, Gregor turns back to the others. "so, what do we know about the nocturnal horrors?"

Once the kegs are suitably tucked under the bar, Gregor turns back toward his new patrons. "Waffles? I am sure the proprietor, Lady Maggie, would be happy to whip up some waffles for ye, if ye don't mind waiting a touch. She's a wizard in the kitchen. Of course, that's to be expected from a Hobbi-" Three black-suited gentlemen rush through the doors of the Corner Inn and move straight to the bar, presenting Gregor with a strange blue scroll. Unfurling it he reads the contents, rolls it back up, nods to the gentlemen, then continues. "-Halfling, that is. Don't want to get twisted up in any legal proceedings over the use of a word... Anywho, yes, she is a master of cuisine even among her kind, and her husband, bless his belly, was a skilled brewer. Taught me everything I know."

Leaning through the door behind the bar, he can be heard calling out, "OH MAAAAGGIE!!! How about some waffles for our new guests? Thanks love."

As the mayor reaches the back door it swings open rather abruptly, with a trio of wooden kegs tumbling in toward him. "Watch out, the ALE has gotten loose again!"

Diving through the doorway and - acrobatics: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26 - landing on top of all three kegs is a stocky, bearded man who smells of beer, whisky, and beef stew. "HAAAA! Thought ye could escape, did ye?! Not today, yer heading straight to the taps to be drunk! That's how the people like there Katapeshen Pale Ales - fiery, fierce, and with a sharp bite!" Lashing the barrels together, he pushes them out the backdoor.

"Pardon me mayor, but what's all the hubbub about? An' who is the strange lookin' lot behind ye? Haven't seen their likes in our little village before?" Before the mayor even responds, Gregor wipes his hands on his apron, and cracks a big, welcoming smile. "Ahh, who am I kiddin'? Yer all welcome at the Corner Inn, come on over for a good pint and we can discuss what troubles ye!"

sorry, been having some internet connectivity issues at my hotel

You walk into the town hall. There is a large group of people yelling about missing cattle, dying crops, and mysterious creatures in the night that people have described 18 different ways. It's obvious there's a threat to your town, but no one has stepped up to fix it and the mayor is holding this meeting to find someone to help.
What do you do?
-----------------------

Stepping through the back door of the tavern, Gregor looks up and pauses. this isn't my tavern? Where did I go wrong...? looking down, he realizes the cask of whiskey he was carrying back from the caravan is awfully light. may have sampled a bit too much of it... Anyway, what is this commotíon... Gregor moves closer to the crowd to hear their complaints.

As the story of an unknown threat to the town is made clear, Gregor grows surprisingly serious. grain and livestock in danger?! No grain means I cannot brew beer, and no meat means no stew, this cannot be.... Stepping forward, "Lads and lasses, have not a fear. The Corner Tavern is full of would-be heroes and i know the perfect few to help me unravel this riddle. So please, calm down and join me back at me taps for a fresh pint. We can collect all the details ye can share, and i will assemble a talented bunch to right this wrong. A midnight stakeout is in order, and i have the perfect aged applejack to keep us keen through a cold night as we await these nocturnal troublemakers..."

Feats, background skills, and equipment weights have all been addressed.

I felt something like Extra Bombs was a power grab, so I took Extra Discovery and looked for something thematic for a bartender/Brewer. Settled on Tanglefoot Bomb. I assume his bombs are basically molotov cocktails, and the 'entangle' effect could be the alcohol getting the target temporarily drunk?

Wrapping things up, one question. Alchemist gives Throw Anything for free. Any thoughts for a substitute as that is now a free campaign feat?

And I could be the friendly, resident barkeep...

Yeah. Definitely frustrating, but it's all clear in my head so when I get home from work tonight it should not take me long.

Stupid website just ate a massive post of mine. Need to start writing in Word and pasting it in. Will have all the updates (10 min background, RP sample, etc) posted tonight.

strength: 18
1d10 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
1d10 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11
1d10 + 7 ⇒ (9) + 7 = 16
wisdom: 8
1d10 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13

Posting Gregor the Barkeep as he stands prior to recruitment. He needs some updates and his 10-Minute Background completed. Will do those shortly.

This is Gregor the Barkeep, an barkeep and bouncer (brawler / alchemist) created for a previous spoof/trope game. He is already 3rd level and appears built to fit your rules. He has taken Catch Off Guard as he is actually built as the barkeep who wields "whatever is in reach" as a weapon (bar stools, mugs, a halfing rogue...) to deal with problems. So, if that feat becomes free, just let me know and I will reassign.

Congrats on your admission into grad school. Alas, Gregor knew it was too good to be true... for who would want a barkeep along for an adventure...

Running down the road behind the others, a winded Gregor pleads with himself. Damn, these adventurers can move fast... my chest feels like it is going to explode, I never run like this... Reaching into his pack he pulls a small bottle of volatile spirits. Taking a small sip he then throws a couple additives to it, then hurls it at one of the mephits.

bomb touch attack: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
bomb damage: 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8
reflex DC 14 for splash on adjacent targets

"Let us not leave our elven friend alone out in the cold. Red shirts, companions, we go!" Stepping behind the bar, he hefts a large backpack, then places it atop a keg of beer. He straps the keg to the pack, then lifts it onto his shoulders.

Turning toward the Red Shirts and his named allies, he waves toward the door, then heads out in pursuit of the elf.

Sizing up the six nameless bar-patron volunteers, Gregor smiles. "Ah, for each of you, I have just the thing." Gregor heads to the back room for a minute, and returns with an armful of crimson tunics emblazoned with the logo of the Corner Inn. Handing one to each of the six nondescript warrior/mercenary/adventurer types, Gregor smiles. "Excellent, as loyal patrons and defenders of the Corner Inn, I present each of you with a commemorative tunic. Together, you shall be called the Red Shirts!"

Turning back toward the strange mixed company he has spoken with more in depth, "I apologize, but that is all the commemorative tunics I have. I trust none of you will be offended that I do not have any for you. Now, shall we be on our way so Variel can still follow the tracks left by the violet villain? I am sure the absent minded wizard will follow shortly, likewise accompanied by the paladin styling his hair in the corner."

Looking at his three compatriots, the elven warrior, the halfling assassin, and the human who doesn't like ale ....what is wrong with him.... he smiles, "Well gents, names would perhaps work. I am Gregor, Gregor MacAllan, barkeep and brewer here at the Corner Inn. Who would you all be? "

Turning toward the halfling, "Indeed, a blade for hire. So you'd be skilled in gutting the villainous violet violator, but are you any good at tracking? As for pay, I am not a wealth man. The Corner Inn suffers lots of damages in the many bar fights, so most of the profit from the sale of food, ale, and lodging goes into repairs. But, I can offer you all the ale you can drink.... for life!"

Thinking to himself, Halflings can't drink THAT much, can they?

Looking to the mad old man, the overly serious elf, and the prince charming-esque knight "Well, you've got tankards of ale... care to join in the quest?"

"that, good sir, is an excellent question." Tossing back a pint of ale, he continues. "Truth be told, I was hoping one of these great heroes might have the skill, or spell, to track the purple pickpocket."

After hauling up a couple more kegs from the cellar and making sure the common folks each had a full tankard, he gathers up a round for those who put up a more significant defense to the lavender looter and approaches them.the ither PCs

"Gentlemen, thank you for your aid. But now i must ask more of you. Will you help the Corner Inn recover its stolen goods? I am but a simple barkeep and brewer, but the lot of you, now you are heroes. Heroes who carry out great quests in defense of others, and what better place to defend than the very inn where you seek merriment and relaxation? I will assist where i can - i have a strong arm and my brews are known to have wondrous effects. Tell me, can one of you track the plum pipsqueak who pinched our pints?"

Walking back into the Corner Inn, Gregor sees the the chaos brewing in the tap room. Summoning his innate barkeep powers (accessible only within the bar where he serves), he gives a mighty speech worthy of the warriors of old. "Ladies and gentlemen, please, do not despair. Yes, it is true that a perverse, profligate purple pint-sized pea pod just robbed this great establishment of many fine brews, spirits, wines, and some of its great memorabilia. Everyone knows you do not rob an inn... pick the pocket of a drunk patron, perhaps, get in a barfight, of course, slap a barmaid's rump, why not - but rob an inn?! It is an outrage! Yet, while I enjoy a barfight, as that would be the inevitable outcome of this argument, I propose a far bolder and better solution: first, I get more ale from the keg cellar. Yes, I have more - I am a brewer!. Second, we drink said ale. Third, we set off on a grand quest to apprehend the violet violator! Who is with me?" By the end, Gregor is standing on a table, calling to all the patrons of the Corner Inn.

diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22

As he comes from behind the bar in pursuit of the purple halfling, Gregor grabs a small, strange bottle and tosses it down quickly. Letting out a belch, he seems to accelerate with each step, running after the violet offender who so underhandedly lifted his delicious beers!

drink potion of expeditious retreat, now speed 60

does it seem like the halfling is possessed, intellectually limited, or just mad? also, besides being naked and purple, are their any unique aspects of his appearance - scars, injuries, eyes glowing red...?
sense motive: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

"Fine, you want to steal from us, then steal this!" Gregor throws the keg he is holding at the purple halfling.

nonlethal ranged attack: 1d20 + 6 - 4 ⇒ (12) + 6 - 4 = 14
nonlethal damage: 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

Grabbing a floating keg out of the air, he looks to the bear of a man, "is he with you?"

Looking at the mad purple halfling prancing on the bar as he steals stuff, Gregor gets quite angry. Still holding the keg above his head, "you listen here, Zok. I can definitely see you. Give back our stuff or you'll be the one flying."

reAdy an action to hit him with the keg if he takes Anything else or tries to leave

perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

Looking at the naked halfling quite quizzically, "Laddie, it is far too early in the day to be so garbed... err... ungarbed." Throwing the halfling a bar towel, he chuckles and continues, "Thought outta make an entire noble ensemble for you!"

oh, and to prove beer is the gift of the gods... my beer heals!

greetings all.

As for build (seeing as that is the current conversation), I am planning on alternating levels of brawler and alchemist, so I will have decent melee output, a touch of AoE,some 'spell' support and I do have disable device to assist with trap concerns.

Clambering up from the Inn's basement, a large keg upon his shoulders, the stocky barkeep looks about the room in surprise, "By Cayden's overflowing mug, we got ourselves a bit of a crowd! Greta, why dintcha come get me sooner? Lords and Ladies, welcome to the Corner Inn, who needs a new brew?"

A large smile forms across Gregor's bearded face, and his muscled forearms fill tankard after tankard with his finely brewed ale. Ah, to be in the company of such fine heroes and heroines. If only some day I could go on such a grand quest with them... His thoughts trail off as he pours dragonblood whiskey for the peculiar one-eyed wizard in the corner.