I'll take the time to browse through the .pdf, but my initial thoughts are to go for either wizard or ranger. I love me some crossbows and it seems the ranger is all about that.
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Irfan joins the quarrel with another errant shot, but with a teammate down, his focus solely lies on getting Gaven away from death's door.
All I could find in the book on it is this: Critical successes usually have greater effects than
So, if precision damage doesn't state it is doubled on a critical, it just stays the way it is. Oddly enough, precision damage says the following: Precision damage increases an attack’s damage rather
The precision damage becomes part of the regular damage pool, which then should be doubled upon a crit. I think you played it right. I tried googling it, but oddly enough there's little to no discussion about it on the forums other than one post going 'could you please clarify this in the ruleset?'. tl;dr: I too think precision damage gets doubled.
Irfan somehow manages to pop in another bolt whilst uttering a hasty incantation of reconstruction, knitting back together flesh from afar and then, by clenching his fist, infusing it with a burst of positive energy. "This ain't right, this ain't right at all!"
Irfan sees the hobgoblin's blood smirched cheeks and knows exactly what to put into the creature's head: visions of quinoa and oatmeal banquets.
Fear:
Range 30 feet; Targets one creature Duration varies You plant fear in the target, with effects based on its Will save. Emotion
Success The target is frightened 1.
Frightened:
Frightened
You’re gripped by fear and struggle to control your nerves. The frightened condition always includes a value. You take a conditional penalty equal to this value to your checks and saving throws. Unless specified otherwise, at the end of each of your turns, the value of your frightened condition decreases by 1.
Irfan braces himself and, if possible, seeks some relative shelter against the cold confines of the hall's walls. "Let's press ourselves against the walls, have a raised shield at the ready to eat whatever might be flung our way, and well, yes, let's do this!"
Irfan cranks up another bolt just in case the goblin decides to return. "I disagree, Gaven, but our disagreement still doesn't change the fact that I'm growing weary and there's only so little reconstructing magic left within me."
Yeah, it better run! There's more where that came from.
"My shawl, it burns!" A hand frantically pats at the damaged fabric before reaching back to fetch another quarrel. Onto the crossbow it goes and then, with a loud phwang, Irfan tries to put an end to this fire starting menace.
Trained like a proper operator, Irfan raises his crossbow and stares down the sight until he, somehow, aligns his aim with the frantically moving goblin."Suppressive fire!"
The last spark of divinity bursts out of Irfan's fingertips and over Edric's traumatized flesh. There, it starts to deconstruct and reconstruct, putting things back where they belong, making right what's wrong.
"I can feel the strain channeling all this energy is putting on me, but I ain't done just yet."
"Lead the way!" With that said, Irfan falls in behind. It seems that his knowledge of, well - all things - was playing second fiddle to his skill at tending to the traumas of the flesh.
"I got your back!" What with Irfan's skill at melee combat, that's about the gist of it all things considered.
Another fight, another need for protection. Once more an ancient ritual of Nethys was invoked to conjure forth protective shields and barriers to aid Gaven in the struggle against the demonic creatures.
Irfan mutters something in the way a cultist would whilst holding his holy symbol, but immediately after a warm glow embraces Gaven's wounds and start knitting him back into one piece. "Reconstruct, deconstruct, the structure of our flesh."
The Nethysian hastes himself to Edric's side and drops onto his knees, hands reaching for the healer's kit. "Right, right, medical attention. Yes, their clumsy tools are quite capable of inflicting trauma alright. Blasted goblins, why must they be so violent? Got you good, they got. Gut you good, they tried, that sorry lot." T'was perhaps a blessing in disguise that, calling upon the divine so that Edric's wounds could be healed, forced Irfan to stop talking.
Gods Below, these Goblins are poetically inclined! Best scribble that down later, and, if possible, capture one of them so that all their poetry and song can be transcribed! Enthusiasm for exotic cultures aside, there remains the fact that Irfan's companions are in danger and so, with a flourish, the priest calls forth layers of protection to keep Edric safe from harm.
Oh right, they don't stack the action costs, they show it separately. I'm not going to say that that's a stupid way of portraying information to the reader in a rulebook, but that's definitely not the handiest of ways to present information to the read -_- Well, if so, no movement. Need to identify that bad boy.
I think I did everything correctly there? I had to browse through the rulebook a thousand times, so I sure hope so xD
Irfan nearly gags upon discovering what is assaulting them: a veritable pile of refuge, dancing and bobbing about in a vile ocean of toxic goo. In answer to the ooze's unwanted arrival, instinctively, the loreseeker backs off. Mid-stride, whilst eyeing the situation, the Nethyrian deftly draws an arcane symbol of fending in the air with his left hand. It isn't until he's out of the creature's reach that he gives his brain a moment to go through what he knows. Hadn't he read about oozes before?
It's pretty darn late here so I'll finish Irfan's gear tomorrow, but he can wield a torch and shine a light on our surroundings. He's got a rather decent +perception, so searching makes sense.
Solicitor here. Have yet to type out his background, but I got a good idea of who Irfan is. I'll be gone for most of the day though so perhaps I won't down to typing it until tomorrow. Other than that, I think Irfan is ready to go. He's a half-elf cleric of Nethys with more skills than one ought to have. I've yet to pick his prepared spells, so there's that as well.
Solicitor's application here, Elegast Palmerain. Crunch:
Name Elegast Palmerain
Race Human (Suloise) Class Fighter BAB +1 | Base Saves F2 R0 W0 (Adjusted F5 R2 W4)| 1D10HP (13HP) | NG +6 to hit / 1D8+4 damage Morningstar | +3 to hit / 1D6+4 damage Javelin | +5 to hit / 1D4+4 damage Dagger AC 20 (10+5ARMOR+2SHIELD+2DEX+1DODGE) Flat-footed 17 Touch 13 STATS
FEATS
TRAITS
SKILLS (6)(*class skill)
SPECIAL
GEAR (127lb)(80’ish if camping gear is stashed on mule)
Background:
Elegast hails from north of the Nyr Dyv, but his family moved south to the Duchy of Urnst while he was still a child. Raised on meager means, the sellsword is used to constantly having to move around and begging for employment to make ends meet. His father was a veteran who lost much during the wars. The man’s body was absolutely wrecked and as a result, it was hard to get a steady job and keep it. His mother wasn’t much better, having suffered famine during the war. Frail and fragile, it didn’t take much for her to get sick. It must’ve been around his sixteenth that first his mother passed away and shortly after, most likely because of heartache, his father followed her to the grave. The life of hardships continued. Elegast enlisted with a local mercenary band named the Silver Fists and got his first taste of conflict: the local baron hired them to deal with a humanoid threat, but had failed to mention that the goblins were led by a mighty ogre. Months of skirmishing back and forth in the hilly woodlands bled the company dry and eventually disaster struck, with the mighty ogre chieftain killing the company’s captain during a nighttime ambush. And, as his mother used to say, ill luck never rides alone. On returning to the baron with what remained of their band they discovered that the man was both unable and unwilling to pay them. Three of the remaining seven Silver Fists rebelled against the baron and were subsequently hung. The other four, including Elegast, fled Urnst. Unable to cope with the idea of having to give in to brigandry, Elegast formulated a simple plan. It was a simple one, with a clear goal: Make it to Greyhawk to join a reputable mercenary company. But reality always has a way of getting in the way of plans and dreams. Years of slow-paced traveling and working various jobs, from guarding merchants to being a bouncer or simple muscle, led Elegast to Diamond Lake. Bereft of options and with no hope remaining, Elegast is ready to jump at any and all opportunities to get himself out of the hole he finds himself in. Personality:
Grim and sober, Elegast is the product of his hard life. He’s willing to share what little he has with those he hopes to call friends, but will protect that which he holds dear with his life. His source of hope are his daily prayers to Fharlanghn, in which he tells the God of the things he has seen that day, and promising to himself that one day he’ll see things that will be worth telling to a God. Other than the current dip he’s in, thanks to the rather bleak outlook, Elegast is a person who prefers to think the glass is half full and that, through hard work and honest effort, any situation can be turned. He appreciates honesty and despises incessant liars. Appearance:
Elegast is a tall man with shoulders that aren’t particularly broad, but a muscular body nonetheless. Long and lean, his body is the result of a lifetime of hard work and hardships, and not the result of rigorous training and working out. Jagged strands of hair the color of wet hay peek backwards, with no real form or shape to it that would deserve the description ‘hairdo’. His calloused hands are littered with scars and nicks. The only real noteworthy scar or damage to his body, other than callous, is a large discoloration on his back. This is the result of a goblin bolt that got stuck in his armor, but nonetheless hit him with such an impact that it knocked the air out of him and left him lying on the ground wondering if he was death. His attire consists of a faded grey overcoat, of which the trimmings have started to ravel a long time ago, and a soldier’s outfit: sturdy boats that desperately need replacing, a shirt and jacket that are missing more buttons than decency would permit, and pants that have been patched so many times they’ve almost changed material from wool to leather. A battered teardrop shaped shield features a faded painted Silver Fist. The man’s main weapon, a morningstar, is the only keepsake he has from his native Alhaster: ordained by the local church of Hextor. Still left to do: work out skill bonuses, armor check penalty and simply alter the formatting so it looks like this character sheet for another character of mine on these forums.
Solicitor's contribution here, Austeja! Austeja is a dwarven cleric of Trudd, dedicated to smashing goblins and clubbering giants. See the spoilers for the crunch, background, personality and appearance. Oh, and Trudd! Crunch:
Name Austeja Rokas
Race Dwarf Class Cleric of Trudd BAB +0 HP 11 Saves F6 / R2 / W6 (F2 / R0 / W2) INIT +1 STR 16
Feats
Skills (2)
Traits
Spells
Favored Class Bonus: +1 HP Special
Gear (48gp)
Total: 88 lb. CARRYING CAPACITY
Background:
Austeja Rokas, daughter of Grundar Rokas. She had introduced herself with those words a thousand times or more, but hasn’t ever since the day the giant raiders and their goblinoid goons overran her ancestral home. With most of the village’s population either murdered or forced into slavery, Austeja managed to survive the day simply because she was doing what she loved to: going out into nature and overcoming its many challenges. From climbing trees to lifting and tossing mighty rocks, it took very little to make the girl happy.
Now she’s simply Austeja, an aspirant champion of Trudd, driven forth by a simple vow: to make Varisia a safer place by vanquishing the giant and goblinoid scourge. Knowing she’s nowhere near experienced enough to take on the giant threat, she travels the coast of Varisia in the hopes of finding a worthwhile cause to dedicate her hammer to. Perhaps one day she'll be experienced and skilled enough to deal with the giant menace. The dream of performing deeds that will make the Dwarven Gods proud push her on to tomorrow, but underneath her calloused hands and thick muscles, Austeja is a soul adrift. And secretly, she’s well aware of this. Word has reached her that Sandpoint is facing goblinoid troubles and as such, she has made this town, famous for its glass, her destination. Appearance:
Blessed with shoulders that can make men blush, Austeja is a leggy dwarf with arms and thighs that sing a constant song in honor of Trudd’s main feature: strength. With remarkably refined facial features, she’s pleasant enough to look at it (if one were to be attracted to dwarven women). Her long auburn hair is sleeked back when there’s not enough time to braid it or if she’s traveling.
Austeja carries with her a physical reminder of the day she lost her ancestral home: second degree burn wounds have scarred her upper back. A dozen other scars, most of them inflicted through training and some others the result of being an active outdoors type, litter her entire body. The most noticeable is a jagged slash of discolored skin along her neck, the result of falling out of a tree. The woman tends to dress in sober earthy tones. From autumn brown to ashen grey, her dresses and tunics tend to be more practical than decorative. Having lost more of her wealth in the destruction of her home, she wears but one plain silver bracelet around her right wrist. It rings with Trudd’s roaring appreciation when she strikes a mighty blow with her hammer. Personality:
Cheerful yet gloomy, Austeja is the product of two things: her dedication to Trudd and following his ways on the one hand and the loss of her family and home on the other. In a sense, they both come together when confronted with foes, but outside of direct danger the woman can bounce from being (rather undwarvishly) outgoing and happy to (more dwarvishly) reserved and somber.
Outside of her current mood and psyche, the dwarfess has the resolve her people are known for and such determination that Trudd has deemed her worthy of his divine blessing. She’s prone to losing herself in whatever she’s currently passionate or occupied with, merrily conversing and working together with those involved in her project, but being dismissive and unaware of those who aren’t. Hailing from a tiny mining village to the north of Sandpoint, Austeja can be labeled as outright socially awkward and clumsy. Her village’s typical straight-forwardness and honesty is something she has found to be incompatible with the world at large and so, she’s trying to find the middle of the road. Unsuccessfully, so far. Coming from a life where all she cared for was taken away from her, she’s quite defensive to those who are in the process of taking away something from her – whether in the physical sense or in the social sense, i.e. when being the target of a joke or mockery – and has a tendency to stand up for those who are being targeted by others in such a manner. What her winning smile can’t fix, her muscles just might. Trudd: http://archivesofnethys.com/DeityDisplay.aspx?ItemName=Trudd
Trudd is a deity almost entirely worshiped by dwarves. He is the youngest son of the primary dwarven deity, Torag. Despite his relatively young age, Trudd is the strongest deity in the dwarven pantheon, and as a result is often left to guard his father's halls while Torag is absent. For a dwarf, Trudd sports a remarkably short beard, spawning many tales, including one that he sold it for some unknown boon. Alignment NG
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