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"Better than an eyepatch that's for sure." Roger drinks the potion. Roger's not entirely sure why he's in front of the incredibly well armored Emma, but figures maybe she's opened more than her fair share of doors with swarms of vermin behind them.
"A though occur'd to me. If we know he didn't ask for his money back, do ya think that narrows down his disappearance between paying for his boat out and it's leavin', a single night? Is that anything?" Roger has been slowly ruminating over the mystery. Not his strongest suit, but giving it his best.
"Hard to say. For all we know, its not Connie when these are being carved."
Roger eventually bumbles his way back to the group, carrying her blade and all that's left of her. "I think I got her, though she turned into fog after she hit the ground. Everyone alright? Think we can gleam any clues?" He tosses the weapon, armor, and clothing on the ground.
Bitterer than a being soaked to the bone in salt-spray.. Roger's will is distracted by resisting the pain as best he can to deliver a strike in return.
"Oh aye, cause he totally weren't trying to kill her before!" Roger rumbles as he gets to his feet and continues to chase. "Thems were just love nibbles!"
"You're not getting away that easy!" Roger gives chase, but can't quite close the distance, even with his enhanced speed.
"Blast!" Roger realizes he's empty handed and without a backup, looking around for his blade and running to pick it up.
"Aw hell, them constables gonna get themselves killed- Damn it... Ough- I'd never hear the end of it." Eventually, as the magical component of fear wears off, Roger's other emotions slowly manage to reassert themselves. "-Nerissia?" He sees her run by, and that's finally enough to rouse him back to the fight, and he re-enters the fray.
Roger finds any port in a storm.
Roger's were already wide with fear, so it's perhaps impressive that they get even wider when a blade tears a chunk out of his beard and is narrowly deflected from his neck by his new armor. He slaps the blade away with his arm and turns to run.
"How do I watch for a howl? More of a hear thing, isn't it?" Roger asks in a moment of confusion at what exactly they're looking at. "Oy! Everyone else get out of here, this is a job for us!" Roger then gathers himself and yells at everyone to get out of here while rushing forward and drawing a weapon.
Roger spares a glance for the others and sees them still a bit behind, and doesn't want to leave them too much, and so only heads a little bit past the line of caution.
With spellcasting out of the way, now all Roger's breath can be focused on the proper business of oxygen to one's thighs, instead of that silly brain frivolity.
"Aye, you of all should know the gods are list'nin, and not always one as kind as yours." Roger agrees with Emma. Roger whistles an odd tune and gives himself a slap- and he seems to be faster now?
"Sounds like it could be our man?" Roger has a bit of a questioning tone as he looks at Hannelia- he might have forgotten the curly brown hair bit.
"Aye, I think ye've the right of it. Wish there were simpler tracks to follow, but I doubt following footsteps'd do any good in town." Roger thinks.
"Aye, curiosity's the appetite today. Got a woman looking for where her partner may have gone, but not in the jealous sort of way, in a 'I pray he's not dead' sorta way. Verno's the name we're trying to track down."
Roger pauses for a moment, pondering, giving his beard a solid singular stroke. "Damn, twere a finely crafted line. Have a drink on me." He tosses the Peg-Leg caller a silver, tips his hat, and follows Hannelia in.
"Aye, a sound plan for tonight, but I do have a thought we mayn't ave looked at for tomorrow. Have we checked what other means of passage he might've chartered to get home? If'n he picked a cheap'n disreputable sort that might explain the disappearance and tell us which way to look." Roger is amenable to the current plan and proposes an option for the future.
”I’ve come straight from the docks. I haven’t been anywhere. Are there many Inns he could have stayed at? Where should we go first?” "Aye, I know a few inns and taverns a traveler might have frequented. Let's ask around there." Roger has spent a few eves in such places. To say the least.
My personal opinion on the 'real world rules' is the following. If you're following the adventure I laid out, all encounters should be in your CR range, unless I give you OOC word of DM that 'Yes, the entire campaign is named after Strahd von Zarovich, engaging him at level 4 is ambitious." Primarily because I never want the players to be afraid of acting recklessly. Because reckless actions move the story forward and the story not moving forward is a big cause of story death. But, if you actively do something else other than the proffered adventure, "Hey, I want to see if I can assassinate the head of the local adventurer's guild and steal his magic items", then you'll get a warning of 'Alright, that's going off the rails, we can do that, but you no longer have a safety net guarantee that he's at your CR."
"Can't say I have, but where you stayin' case I run across him." Roger takes a good look at the portrait, trying to commit it to memory.
Well, that's not ominous at all.
"Aye. Sounds about right." Roger hefts up and lifts Constantine over his shoulder. "Thanks for taking wheel on that. Never quite sure what to says."
The next day Roger is taking what the gentry might consider a morning constitutional as he racks his brain. "Secrets I have- but not any good ones. It'd be a right shame to bring up a time I farted and hoped no one noticed." Definitely words such gentry wouldn't admit to in public company. But a racked brain is one quick to latch onto the first ready and waiting distraction, and his attention is drawn to a kerfluffle outside Gunty's.
"Oooch, aye, that's a tough one- a secret I've never shared? Huuuh." Roger's expression seems to be less of unwillingness but rather of racking his brains. "Shared a lotto things, thinkin' a one I never did's a mite tricky."
"Aye, that we are. And this litle one'll have quite the knack for storytelling. A power ye can never know what'll be? The suspense'll keep you to the edge of yer seat."
~End of Bitiborium Solo Scene~ "Well, kind as ye be, I'd say I feel a string ought to be attached for something like this. I'll say you've got one drake sized favor owed you, whether you like it or not. Better to hurry to call it in, before I get eaten by a proper dragon on me next adventure." Roger offers a favor at least ~Bitiborium Group Scene~ "Well, plants adopting people, or people adopting plants... Either one's a story I haven't told before-" Roger is a bit confused by the plant
As Bitiborium displays his uncanny, or simply gnomish mastery of the packing and unpacking arts with his quick unknotting trick, Roger remarks "If you hadn't already a career, I'd wager the finest traders up and down the Vanji River'd pay a triple share for a packmaster of your talents." Taking the bottle in hand, Roger smiles and turns it over, listening deeply. A keen eye would tell that Roger wasn't even considering the other thing Bitiborium was carrying. A fine liquor to make friends with local hero and repay a bit of work? Seemed reasonable and friendly to him. He wasn't considering the other item was also for today. And so he was taken with a measure of surprise as the armor was set down, that only grew as he reaches out to feel the weight of it after the dust and dirt is cleaned away. "Sell my soul to Besmara- If you've treasures like this about, you've no need of a packmaster's triple share. Fairer compensation any man shy of Cayden's never received. Surely there's more to this than a simple hauling job, if my hands don't deceive an' this is mithril."
"Oh aye, don't doubt yer the elder, but I doubt I've but a summer or two left by how you wear your years. If not for the age, for all the adventurin' business. Plenty of close shaves already." Roger agrees with the age. Still, Roger wears his own years quite well at least in the realm of fitness, accepting the pack mulery surprisingly well. A man perhaps of not titanic strength, but exceptional. As Majara is brought up, he answers. "Oh aye, and I'm glad that Saringallow Seekers was the name what caught. One of our first ideas was Fellows of Saringallow or something like that. Ghastly."
Roger rises, first eyebrows, then from his chair and smiles. "Hale and strapping lad? This must be what a lady with grandchildren feels like what when a bloke calls her a beautiful young lass. If you t'weren't a gnome I'd reckon you a flirt." Roger follows, good for a stretch if nothing else.
So, HP jumps up to 65 as free retraining and FCB taken into effect. Feat chosen: Martial Focus (Heavy Blade) +1 Damage and special meets requirement stuff. Skills all go up by 1, some went up by 2 because I think I didn't properly level at 4th. ABP +1 Deflection AC New Trait:
Freebooter's Bane scales to +2 Hit/Damage
"It's not all bad you know- get some wisdom with it aye~" Roger mutters into his drink, but has enough wisdom not to interrupt the mood and enjoys it with a wry smile instead.
"Oooh, or or, this could be fun, 'Pava' could actually be a demon possessing Pava's body, in order to summon the Devil and get a lick up on a rival. Demons and Devils what mess with each other, don't they?" Roger continues with silly ideas, that may or may not be silly. "That'd make for a fun tale."
"Two rings- wonder if someone someday'll come achance them and think 'em a fine buried treasure." "What for these treasures.." Roger looks over them, "How much ye want to bet they'll summon a devil somehow what we'll have to send back to hell? I'm in for 5 gold."
"Hmm, the talking painting and now this.. Strange ways, strange ways." Roger ruminates his thoughts outloud for a moment, though in a low enough tone it would be easy to let pass in the background.
"Tougher'n most- if only that thick skull kept out magic." Roger's impressed by the bodyguard holding out, but nonetheless seeks to put an end to that, booting a chair out of the way and trying to bring the man down with another blunt blow.
"It's weak to good? Aye, Emma, you've got this! Give it a good 'ole uh.. good-en-ing?" Roger yells encouragement before focusing on his own battle, intending to lock blades and then pummel Ridinion with the flat and hilt.
Roger has been feeling a little more at home due to Delara's surprising hospitality. However, as guard was just about to finish lowering, raised voices and ringing steel rouses him out of it in the nick of time. "What sorta mutiny is this?!" Looking at the situation, he decided to moe towards Ridinion, seeing him as the greatest threat with steel in hand.
"Adventurers indeed. Ever you have trouble, we're close to call in Saringallow." Roger nods his agreement. As the discussion continues, he sort of stares at a couch, then at his own dirty clothes, then raises a hand as though to attempt to dust himself off, thinks better of it, and sort of stands there with an awkward smile.
"Indeed, not the way we were expecting the wind to blow."
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