Isabella Blackleaf's page

I'm truly sorry to do this, but I'm going to have to take a leave of absence from the paizo forums for a while.

This year hasn't been much fun for any of us, I'm sure. And just last week, two people at my job have been diagnosed with COVID-19.
I'm not feeling ill myself, but I am having serious trouble finding the headspace to game. 'Stuff' just keeps piling up, even if it doesn't affect me directly - yet.

I'm not sure when I'll be back. Of course I hope it'll be sooner, rather than later. Please bot my character as appropriate.
Again, I'm sorry to do this; you guys are a great group to game with.

"Might as well. We ain't dead yet," Isabella says. "That, and this stuff may be good gear, but it ain't what we need. We want them Rangers, yeah? ... That, and we need to deal with those treants one way or another."

"Yeah; I prefer it. But I like whatever works," Isabella notes. "Got one here already."

Isabella jerks a thumb at the composite longbow she has... but then does test the new one.

"Hn. If no one else wants these, I'll take 'em."

"Arrows," Isabella notes. "Good ones. Anyone mind?"

My apologies for my absence. I was struggling to beat a deadline and it left me wiped out.

"Hold up," Isabella says, squatting at the beginning of the corridor. "Eyes peeled. Look for clues as to where the next trap is. We don't wnat to see Arryn sliced into four quarterlings."

Perception 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (6) + 13 = 19

"Ta," the half-elf says while she works to disarm the trap.

That's a 29 on the Disable device check, then.

"Dibs," Isabella says, as she stows the silver bolts.

When Arryn gets sliced, she curses sulphurously. "So you did," she agrees, tensely. "Someone fix him! I'll - take a look. Don't have a kit..."

Disabling this thing is going to cost me a penalty due to lack of tools, so keep that healing handy: 1d20 + 9 - 4 ⇒ (18) + 9 - 4 = 23

Welcome back. ^_^

Isabella slowly, painfully scrambles to her feet.
"This happens too often," she states. Then, to Artemis: "Thanks again."

Now at 4 hp.

Yeah, that came as a nasty shock. Especially because I read the discussion tab first and saw DM Bigrin commiserating with me before I read the gameplay tab and saw what happened.

Unconscious and bleeding, Isabella falls down and stops moving.

-2 hp. *sigh*

Fort. 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24

Isabella (presumably) hears Garrivek's shout of pain nearby and leaps out of the fog, blades leading the way.

"Didya miss me, you ugly wart?" she shouts as she cuts at the teal troll.

Longsword 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 8 + 2 = 20 for 1d8 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 3 + 2 = 10 damage; shortsword 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 8 + 2 = 29 for 1d6 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 3 + 2 = 8 damage.

Fortitude 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26

"Much obliged," Isabella tells Aramis.

... And then she marches off into the fog, one sword flicking left to right, probing for opposition.

Isabella moves six squares forward.

"Could use some healing, here," Isabella remarks without turning away from the teal-nosed troll.

If someone can top my hp up a bit before I engage teal again, I'd really appreciate it. ^^;

Facing the troll tagged by her magic, and seeing Vexras flank it with her, Isabella ... grins.

"You're mine. You're dead," she crows as she launches into another flurry of attacks.

Flanking longsword with Hunter's howl bonus: 1d20 + 8 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 8 + 2 + 2 = 20 for 1d8 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 3 + 2 = 8 damage; flanking shortsword with Hunter's howl bonus: 1d20 + 8 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 8 + 2 + 2 = 16 for 1d6 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 3 + 2 = 10 damage.

With the magic still pulsing in the air around her, Isabella seizes her shortsword and wades into combat. "Let me get at blue-nose to the left if you can," she asks of Vexras. "My spell hit his sweet spot."

Isabella attacks the red troll. Longsword 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16 for 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8 damage. Shortsword 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26 for 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5 damage.

Isabella walks forward, coming to a stop behind Garrivek, jabs one sword into the ground and -- screams?! The sound is feral ... primal ... magical!

Isabella casts Hunter's howl on the trolls. Will save DC 13 to remain unaffected.

Isabella Tsks, and swaps her crossbow out for her swords. If the party is going inside, her blades should probably lead...

Isabella grins mirthlessly as she hefts her crossbow. "Big targets. Easy to hit. Don't get close," she says.

Fort. 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

"Hurt like blazes, too," Isabella admits. "Wonder who's keeping these mutts."

Isabella drops the crossbow -- and in a movement too quick for the average eye to see, whips out her longsword and slashes at the best before her!

Quick Draw, baby! :) Longsword attack 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (4) + 10 = 14 for 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7 damage.

Done and done. And Garrivek isn't Isabella's type, either. :p

"Back up," Isabella whispers for Arryn's benefit, as she starts to sneak back towards the others.

Stealth 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (1) + 13 = 14

The fudge, dice roller? Twice in a row?!

Perception 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (18) + 13 = 31
Stealth 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (17) + 12 = 29

Isabella ghosts after Arryn, loaded crossbow already in her hands, eyes moving left to right, pointed ears twitching subtly.

"Oi," Isabella says, without looking Arryn in the eye. "I may've heard something. I'm pretty sneaky. I could keep ya company."

Which is Isabella-speak for 'I know you're hurting, but don't start volunteering for suicide missions.

"True enough, my beardless beauty. When me village got hit, I thought I'd save me kin. Right little hero, I was. But I couldn't track worth crap. Lost the trail. So then I wanted ta gut those as hurt my kin. The noble avenger! But again, couldn't find 'em. So I turned bandit.

I figure there's still a stretch of forest folks look over their shoulder. Don't think I killed none, though 'twere close. But I stalked. I did harm. And I didn't care. You filled the hole with drink. I used blood and pain. Other people's blood and pain. I told myself I was getting stronger so I could find my kin, but we both know that was a lie. Kind of like a booze hound telling himself it's just one glass to dull the pain, yes?

O'course, I jumped someone who turned out to be stronger'n I thought. Beat me into the ground... and then he spared me. Said my life was his for a year and a day. He... honed me, I guess. And he taught me; you can't fill one hole with another. You want that hole filled, you start shoveling grit. If you get a spell cast to stop wanting, then a spell can cripple you by taking the magic away. You'll be going 'Pleaaaase, mistah wizard, one more hit...'!

You need to start shovelling. If you feel too weak, don't get magic, SAY SO. These other folks're kind. Speak up. They're guaranteed ta be better at talking you away from the bottle."

"Ya think I dunno what it feels like ta have a great big, black hole in yer head, suckin' all the light an' joy an' colour outta yer world?"

"I din't say ye've no right to grieve. So weep. So blame me. So sing. So throw a punch. So get yer girl with child. But don't use Dregg's death as an excuse ta finish destroying yerself."

Isabella snorts. "I'm not after puttin' me hands on yer body every day ta check what yer hidin'. Yer not my type. But I'll give ya consequences if ya louse up again. So if yer after killin' me, better get me in one shot."

"Don't got naught on mine, Peaches. It's you's got somethin' crawl up yer shift," Isabella says. "Dregg died. I'm right sorry. I weren't fast enough, din't hit hard enough. I carry that. I carry lots. But I don't let it break me. One day, I'ma be in the Boneyard, an' I'll say sorry for not bein' there, for not bein' the hardass they needed to keep alive."

The half-elf's eyes blaze.

"But leastwise, I'll not be apologizin' for usin' their deaths as an excuse ta dive into the bottle! It's dishonour on those I regret for. It'd weaken me for the next person as needs me.
Next time I see you sloshed, I'm after punching you in the gut 'till you puke it all up. An' I'll beat shame inta yer bones. You couldn't hit a housefly if yer sloshed, so it'll be easy pickings."

This is purely RP, I swear! I like adventuring with you all.

"You dry again," Isabella asks as she looks at Arryn, her eyes narrowing an inch, "Little Angel? 'Cause if y'are, you an' me gotta have some words."

Arryn, would you object to Isabella showing up and trying some tough love?

"Yer not ta do more exercise than I tell ya, mind. Too much is bad. It'll ruin yer growth. And no slingin' at anything but the target! Not in jest. Not in mock. Only the target. I'm yer mountain now; heed me. Yer not ready ta hit enemies -- yet. But I'll get ya there."

Perception 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (15) + 13 = 28
Disclaimer: I'm not aiming to be offensive; this is Isabella trying to shock Arryn to his senses.

Isabella crinkles her nose at the smell, then looks from Arryn to Phaistea.

"How much's he had?" she asks, bluntly. "Any left so's we can clean out wounds? 'Cause if he's had all we had in supply, I reckon Dregg'd be mighty disappointed in him."

"Right," Isabella tells Symond. "We'll start by building up yer muscle an' stamina. I'mma give ya exercises ta do. Do them e'ery mornin', an hour after eatin'. At dinner, see ya get yer fair share o' meat. Meat is good for buildin' muscle.

Teachin' ye the bow like I tried ta a'fore was too fast, I see that now. Like I said; we're buildin' ya up. But we're also after teachin' ya ta aim, so we're gonna get ye a sling. In the mornin's, ya do the exercizes I'll give ya; sit-ups, push-ups, runnin', climbin'. In the afternoons, an hour after lunch, ya get out yer sling and start slingin'. We'll set ya up a target.

Don't aim yer weapon at a person! Yer still learnin', an' as like ta hit yer own elbow as a friend's eye. If battle comes, ya hide 'hind tha traps I set up wit' tha others. Don' pick a fight 'till I says yer ready. Got it?"

Isabella goes to see Symond after giving him an hour to cry, and sits down next to him. She brings out the fur cap that Dregg might have liked and plunks it down on his head.

"A man needs a hat," she says. She pauses for a moment, then starts to talk as though she has to physically drag the words out of her: "A man needs a mountain, too. So does a woman. Your mountain ain't just a big wrinkle in the land, it's something or someone to look up to and test and measure yerself against. Your Dad can be that mountain. Your Ma can be that mountain. Your brother can be that mountain.

Now, unlike them big, rocky wrinkles, this kind of mountain is there ta help build ya up, not just because the land shifts and bits sink down or get pushed up. This kind of mountain will say: "Ya wanna be big as me, bigger e'en? Then come over, step up; I'll teach ya, shelter an' nurture ya. I figure Dregg was your mountain."

Another moment of silence passes, and Isabella audibly grits her teeth.

"I had a mountain, me. I had a whole mountain range. But my family died. Someone killed 'em an' I dunno who. I know how much it hurts. I know how lost it feels when ya lose yer shelter, yer role models, yer teachers. I had to go find me a new mountain. Had ta tend me own trails 'till I did. Messed me up some, as ye might've noticed. So."

Isabella sighs. Then she grunts, and puts her hand on Symond's head.

"I ain't no Dregg. I'm an Isabella. But I can be yer mountain. Yer teacher. I can train ye up ta be strong an' sly, so's ye can protect yerself, protect yer folk. Ye can be a man mountain like Dregg, rise ta his height an' maybe higher. So. How about it?"

The half-elf holds out her fist for Symond to bump.

"Want to challenge a new mountain, young man?"

Perhaps to everyone's surprise, Isabella starts chanting the official prayers of the departed from the holy book of Pharasma, queen of the graves. She ceremonially touches Dregg's heart and brow, drawing a spiral on both.

Once she's finished, the half-elf rises and looks the half-orc in the face one last time. "See you around, Green Genes," is all she says as a personal salute.

"That, or we set the place on fire," Isabella says. "Better we cremate the big lug than leave him for some hobgoblin to find and eat."

"Yar. Every soldier with a lick of sense appreciates seeing the blacksmith," Isabella says, nodding sagely. "Swords get dull. They break if they're used too much. You need a man who can beat them back into shape or reforge them from scratch. Not to mention all the other little things they do, like make cutlery and nails. An armed unit falls apart pretty fast if they can't eat like people and can't put in proper doors or sit on proper chairs."

"How Vaudevillian," Isabella says (or at least, she uses the Golarion equivalent thereof). "So. How'd the Redcaps get their hands on a poet?"

Isabella abandons Dregg's body to follow Arryn into the attic.
She glances from the stranger to the chest and back again, her eyes narrowing... but she doesn't say a word.

I really liked him, too. He was great fun.

I didn’t drop out, Dregg simply took enough damage to outright die from that kick!

Okay, so that's a good news / bad news type of situation. ^^;

Arryn, combining your telekinetic attack with a bottle of alchemist fire is a brilliant trick. ^_^ I love it.

Has Dregg dropped out of the game, then? That's a terrible shame, if he has. :(

"Damn it!" Isabella hisses as she sinks to her knees, panting and sweating like an overburdened oxen on the field. "Damn it!"

Abruptly, Isabella shifts her rhythm. Instead of leading with the longsword, she switches with the short; cold iron cleaves a dark path for steel to follow, and the half-elf shifts position again.

Full-attack! Shortsword #1 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (1) + 8 = 9 for 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4 cold iron damage. Shortsword #2 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26 for 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4 cold iron damage. Longsword #1 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16 for 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9 cold iron damage.
And another 5-ft. step back.

"AAAARRRRR~!!!" Isabella screams, practically foaming at the mouth and a disturbing gleam in her eyes.

On some level, dim and half-buried behind seething bloodlust, Isabella realizes the need for more cold iron... but this is all she has.

And the blades flash and whirl, stab and tear, only for the half-elf to take a grudging step back after attacking.

Full-attack: Demonbane longsword #1 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26 for 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9 cold iron damage; Demonbane longsword #2 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16 for 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9 damage; Cold iron shortsword 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (9) + 8 = 17 for 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5 cold iron damage.
5-ft. step back after attacks.

Alright, then I 5-ft step after attacking. ^_^

I'm not sure I actually can take a move action after full-attacking, Arryn...

"DIE YOU POXY FEY DIE!" Isabella screams, incensed beyond all tolerance - and also bleeding quite severely.
Enchanted steel and masterfully-forged cold iron gleam and whirl...

Full attack! Longsword #1 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14 for 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4 damage; longsword #2 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21 for 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8 damage; shortsword 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21 for 1d6 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 damage.

One crit threat. Confirmation 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7 for 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6 bonus damage.