Ink the Quick's page

"...quite honestly, I took their motives to be pure religious zealotry," Ink sheepishly admits. "The fault lies most readily with me, Venture-Captain... I took the lead in the investigation and led the agents straight to the cult's leader, not thinking to gather all the necessary details for our report. I most sincerely apologize." The gnome looks, somehow, even gloomier than usual; clearly preparing to beat herself up over this for a while.

Noting how heavily things have tilted into close combat, Ink revises her strategy. Tapping into her occult learnings, Ink begins to speak another poem... and then stops. The words do not stop when her lips stop moving, though; instead, the shadows around her coalesce into a shadowy parallel-Ink who continues to recite the poem. "Search for me when sun is gone... and moon has donned his veil..."

Ink spends a free action casting lingering composition, followed by one action casting inspire courage.

Performance: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21 Should be easily a success, but not a critical one.

Then Ink refocuses her attention on the prophet. She doesn't expect much of the spell, but it might work until she can summon more ghost-wisps. With a cold murmur and a flick of her fingers, Ink sends a pulse of mental energy into the prophet's mind.

Ink spends two actions casting daze on Ahksiva. Will DC 17!

Reactions: If Ink is attacked directly by Little Zura, she uses Empathetic Plea to try to halt the attack.

Effects: Ink and all allies within 60 feet gain a +1 status bonus to attack rolls, damage rolls, and saves against fear effects for the next three rounds.

Ink pauses in the middle of her poem as the prophet shimmers into view. Improvising a new pair of stanzas on the spur of the moment, the gloomy gnome more rapidly recites, "...and all around the corpse-lights flit, leading fools to death!"

Around Ink, three wisps of pale green-blue light flicker into existence, floating almost leisurely—yet with a grim inevitability like that of Groetus himself—to impact the increasingly monstrous prophet with implosive blows of spectral energy.

Ink spends three actions to cast magic missile, all targeting Ahksiva!

force damage: 3d4 + 3 ⇒ (1, 3, 2) + 3 = 9

"...we creep with bated breath..." Ink continues, her voice rich and musical despite her obvious uncertainty as she recites her poem. She hesitates for a moment upon seeing the slime splatter Izkazk, but her fastidious nature asserts itself—that stuff looks disgusting! Instead the gloomy gnome decides to put a different talent to work. Ink moves closer to the action despite her trepidation and sniffs at the air, trying to pick out the scent of the mysterious prophet.

Ink casts inspire courage, then moves up and Seeks. If she gets a pinpoint fix on the prophet, she'll pass that information on to the others as accurately as possible.

Reactions: If an enemy uses a harmful auditory or visual effect on Ink or her allies, she casts counter performance (Performance +7). If Ink is attacked directly, she uses Empathetic Plea to try to halt the attack.

Effects: Ink and all allies within 60 feet gain a +1 status bonus to attack rolls, damage rolls, and saves against fear effects.

Acting almost on reflex, Ink sings a brief tune. Around her the shadows deepen, phantom armored shapes rising to defend the gloomy gnome. Then Ink intones the initial line of one of her poems. "Through the gloom with lantern lit..." The grim poetry carries with it a bit of magic that raises her friends' spirits and strengthens their resolve. Ink then shifts position to just inside the doorway, trying to keep an eye on all her allies as she continues reciting.

Ink casts shield and inspire courage, then Steps. Not sure if an emanation like inspire courage can go around walls, so better safe than sorry.

Reactions: If an enemy uses a harmful auditory or visual effect on Ink or her allies, she casts counter performance (Performance +7). If Ink is attacked for 10 or more damage or if she is targeted by multiple magic missiles, she uses Shield Block to prevent 5 damage.

Effects: Ink's AC is presently 17. Ink and all allies within 60 feet gain a +1 status bonus to attack rolls, damage rolls, and saves against fear effects.

"I am afraid we are going to have to hinder you, o prophet," Ink says sadly, looking out from behind Mirza's legs. "It's a shame, really. You have some very interesting teachings... I look forward to learning more after your defeat. But we can't allow you to spread pain and destruction."

Ink places a hand on the golden kobold's shoulder. "Please, Pyrexius. I have no doubt it is a mistake... or perhaps a test." Taking a piece of wood, the gnome attempts to carefully clear the path.

Thievery (trained): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 6 = 18

With the path cleared, Ink daintily clears her throat and gestures for the others to follow as she ascends.

Ink and I are both perfectly happy talking our way through events. ^_^

Ink allows the cultist to lead the way, trusting in his guidance and her intuition. As they approach the structure, Ink looks it over, more out of curiosity than suspicion.

Perception (expert): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14

"A fitting home for a herald of the end," the gnome murmurs gloomily. Ink looks up at their guide. "Shall we enter ourselves, or will you lead us? Or are we to wait here for the prophet to reveal themself?"

If the guide indicates that they should head in themselves, Ink will climb the steps and open the door; otherwise she will follow his lead.

Ink bows low, cupping her hands in the increasingly familiar gesture of the cult. "Ah... the herald himself, come to speak with lowly pilgrims such as we. We come to hear your words; to find out how we may serve; to herald a world's end in preparation for rule over that which is to come after."

The gnome toys idly with the tip of a twintail, as if contemplating the end, then tilts her head far back to look up at Mycer. "What shall we do, Master? How shall we serve? What is the command of our prophet?"

Deception: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (11) + 7 = 18

Will save: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

Ink feels quite at home in the gloom and oppressive atmosphere. Still affecting her cover, the gnome answers the questions simply enough. "I am but a pilgrim, intrigued by the promise of the end. I have not yet met the prophet, only her disciples. But I hope to soon... I wish to know what part I might play in the end of days."

Ink peers at the eye creature out of the corner of her eye, trying not to be too obvious.

Ink takes a deep breath, just finishing touching up her makeup. Time to play the game, just like back home. Though at least here they wouldn't... she forces the thoughts back down. The gnome looks at the others and tilts her head in a 'let's go' gesture, her thick twintails swishing.

As Ink approaches, parasol angled to keep the setting sun from her face and cast her in shadow, she daintily pulls the flyer from its place in her notebook. The gloomy gnome holds it out to the guard, then cups her hands and bows as she has seen others do.

"Majet, a traveler from lands to the south, who has heard tell of this place and the revelations it holds," Ink offers by way of explanation. She gestures over her shoulder to the kobolds. "These are fellow pilgrims who have graciously offered to guide and protect me on my journey, in exchange for a chance to witness the coming end for themselves. Please, let them accompany me."

Ink glances around at the others. "I am willing to take lead and aid in securing our entrance. I could present some or all of you as potential converts under my guidance...?" The gloomy gnome shifts uneasily. "Or enter on my own and learn what I can."

Seeing Pyrexius head for the temple, and preferring a gloomy temple to the mud of the swamp, Ink follows his lead and decides to go a-prowling. She's especially curious to see what might be afoot within the temple...

Stealth to Hide and Sneak and stuff: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24
Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23 (+2 to Seek undetected creatures within the range of her scent)

...does the dice roller know Ink's single, or what?

Ink is certainly more confident about talking to locals than she is about plunging into the swamp. The gnome shifts her cover story a little; instead of a grim dreamer beset by apocalyptic visions, she presents herself as a gloomy, morbid poet (barely a deception, one supposes) seeking inspiration for her craft in sites of death and loss on a deific scale.

Deception to Gather Information: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20

Ink peers up at the strange preacher, listening with every appearance of rapt attention. When Dalimus seems to have said his piece, the gnome nods, letting a note of zeal creep into her voice. "Then I shall seek him who serves the Perished One. Thank you for your guidance, sanctified one." Ink bows respectfully. "Let us welcome the end together."

Ink walks away, seeming lost in thought. As she approaches the other Pathfinder, she calls out quietly, as if to strangers, "I am in need of directions. Do any of you fellows know where a wandering poet might find a temple dedicated to one who is dead?" Giving the appearance of stepping closer to listen to their guidance, Ink murmurs, sotto voce, "This preacher gives me the wraith-shivers. But he also gives useful information. I know who to speak to at Aroden's temple."

Deception, you say.

Ink does her best to avoid melon guts as she wends her way through the crowd. As she approaches the preacher—carefully timing her approach to avoid the mess—Ink puts on her most morose, gloomy look.

"Pardon me, Mister Preacher. Might I have a word?" Assuming the wild preacher pays her any heed, Ink continues, her voice a monotonous drone of hopelessness. "Rumor reached me that there was a disciple of the End Times here. Dark have been my dreams of late, and the Skull-Faced Moon has featured prominently therein. I come to you seeking guidance, and wisdom. I wish to join you in welcoming the end. How best is the moon's will accomplished? Pray tell me."

"How unusual..." Ink murmurs to herself, before turning to address the group. "I suspect this is not a true divine symbol at all, but rather a tool of occultic significance... rather like my own poetry, though even more gloomy." Oddly, this seems to brighten the gnome's demeanor.

"I cannot say yet what it might mean, but I will certainly stay alert for any further matters of occult significance." Ink nods at Pyrexius. "Our auric accomplice is correct; the doomsayer may be the key to our next step. Let us seek him out."

"How unusual..." Ink murmurs, peering at the symbol.

Ink does not, in fact, have Religion; only Undead Lore.

Fire and ash aren't Ink's specialty, but she does her best to poke around, taking her cues from the others and looking for signs as to the fire's start.

Perception to Search: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

Ink looks a bit forlorn at the rebuff, but puts on her best smile nonetheless. "We're investigators with the Pathfinder Society, sir. Trying to discover the culprit of these attacks and put a stop to them." The gnome idly twirls her parasol. "Is there something we could do for you, perhaps, or help you with? Pathfinders love nothing more than giving back to the community."

Diplomacy to Make an Impression: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12

EDIT: I see the Pathfinders' reputation precedes us.

Ink approaches the gentleman daintily, peering up at him from under her parasol. "Pardon me... Master Maro, I presume? U-um... we'd like to speak with you for a short while, if we may, and ask you some questions about the circumstances of your injury. If you'd like, I can also provide a touch of magic that might soothe your pain... it looks as though your injury troubles you still."

Sorry about being slow to post. It's looking like a busy week, but I'll be in when I can. Rule of Two sounds just fine to me, though. ^_^

Ink glances around a little uncertainly, weaving through the crowd semi-expertly and climbing into a seat alongside the others. As the proprietress makes her appearance, the gnome gives her best smile.

"The special for me, Lady Reed, and a bit of the stew besides," the poet chirps. "And something fine to drink as well, if you please." Ink pulls out a bit of extra coin; struggling folk like this need all the help they can get. She sets five silver on the table. "Keep the spare, but if anyone comes in hungry, maybe pay it forward. There's few can go without food."

Diplomacy to Make An Impression: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24

At Doryg's mention of 'questions about the neighborhood', Ink nods in agreement. "I'd like to know more about the locality as well, please. Current events, gathering places, any recent mysteries or major stories..."

Ink flashes a glance among the others. Do we want to state our business plain as day?

Ink nods, dutifully making a note of this. "Um, understood, Venture-Captain," the poet says, before turning to her new companions. "Shall we proceed—" Ink surveys the human, fellow gnome, and kobold duo that comprise her team of allies for the day. "—gentlemen?" Ink finishes smoothly, barely missing a beat.

With that, the gloomy gnome turns and begins daintily making her way through the muddy streets, leading the Pathfinders to the door of the eye-catching structure and pushing it open.

I didn't realize until this post that Ink is the only girl here. Also, the broken faction-mark links are really messing with me.

Ink has thus far remained largely quiet, first watching her new allies with wide and wary (yet curious) eyes, then worrying about keeping up with the Taldan venture-captain whilst keeping mud off her dress and the sun out of her eyes. Now, though... the gnome looks around, curiosity plain to see in her gaze.

"Hmm..." Ink murmurs, half to herself. "It rather reminds one of the Quick districts. Same inequality, same poor life expectancy. Only far more damp."

Shuffling forward, Ink shyly clears her throat to attract the venture-captain's attention. "Um... what is the nature of these attacks, these murders? Do they seem as though the violence of human against human? Or are there... other signs?" The gnome fidgets uncomfortably for a moment before elaborating. "The absence of victims', um, blood or portions of their flesh, for example. As if vital fluids or sapient meat were taken to sate, um... other appetites."

Ink does not, in fact, actually have Society. She's like a little Gebbite stilyagi. She does have Undead Lore, though, and is perhaps a little too keen to presume its relevance...

The door creaks open—slowly, as if pushed tentatively, though it only draws out the creaking sound—and a small gnome slips in quietly, looking around a bit anxiously before setting down her pack and finding a chair to climb up into. Once seated, she glances around again, allowing you to get a better look at her.

The gnome's long black hair is put up into thick twintails, and her face is made up very pale; makeup in shades of black and violet contrasts against the powdered paleness and makes her wide purple eyes seem even more vibrant. She wears an elaborate and fancy-looking dress of black lace, silk, and satin, and set at her side in the chair is a fine black parasol, completing her Gothic image. No weapons or armor seem in evidence.

"U-um... hello. I'm, um, Majet of Geb. But, um, you can call me Ink." Her voice trembles with nervousness, but there is a silken smoothness to her tone that suggests a practiced speaker. Sensing the need for additional details, Ink adds, "Er... I'm, um, a poet and occultist. I shall do my best to keep everyone in shape and well informed. And, uh, speak to anyone whom needs speaking to."

With that, the little gnome pulls out a small book and writing set, quickly becoming engrossed in her writings.