Kayal of Ridwan's page

Hey folks. Dropping this quick line to all of my games:

You may or may not have heard of the recent Grenfell Tower disaster that occurred in London earlier this week. While I am eternally grateful to not count myself among its victims, without going into explicit detail, let it be known that my present circumstances have changed substantially as a result.

While I suspect that things will calm down over the coming few days, please feel free to bot/exempt me as necessary in order to keep proceedings moving.

Eternally apologetic and grateful,
- Hourai.

Indeed. It's eaten my post attempts some three times at this point. Not pleasant. (I do still have a post lined up which can get thrown up tonight, but do feel free to go ahead of me.)

I have confidence the three of you could handle Kels reasonably enough. You can always come back and call in the torturers as a last resort. Penance is of course free to do whatever he wants, I'm just highlighting the option.

In the meantime though, Kayal'll pick up what he can from Zoags and keep a relative ear to the ground. Maybe complement the guards on their earlier beat-down while he's at it.

Totally meant to thank you for sorting out the loot list there Rurisa—apologies for not doing so and (of course) thanks!

As an aside: are we leaving Kayal and Penance to man the Jail? I know there's a small bit of business with Zoags to pick up on; Kayal'd be glad to address that while shenanigans are occurring, if the option's there.

Though Kayal does his best to appear understanding of the bard's concerns, he nods along with Rurisa's declarations and remains starkly still as ever as his companions go about...whatever it is they're plotting. Kayal's never quite had the backbone to question the plans of his peers. Contribute to, and perhaps adjust for; but never outright question.

"Have you any plans beyond Longacre, Master Kels?" In the meantime...the Fetchling makes small talk. Still smiling. "I should very much like to hear how your story ends."

Just assume your resident Kuthite is trying to keep Kels' attention as best he can without resorting to Cause Fear spam. Not that the thought hasn't been considered...

"So you see, Master Kels: we aren't monsters. Even Lord Darellus himself—" And Kayal makes a point to punctuate the man's title, "—is but one man; albeit charged with doing what he can in these trying times. And as loyal subjects of Cheliax, of its people, so are we. I think I speak for everyone in saying that a diplomatic solution to this is best for all parties involved, if only the option were made available to us. It's all rather discourteous. Perhaps if we made your muse's acquaintance, we could all discuss the issue like the civilized people that we are. Alas that she seems so reluctant to materialise..."

Kayal slides his eyes to Vokrin, otherwise unmoving, before bringing his glower back to the desk proper. "Forgive him. Our Archmage is a man of tempered action, as I'm sure you're well aware. In any case, even should you doubt our charge: please do not doubt that our own personal intentions are entirely devoted to Longacre's continued well-being."

Bluff (Secret Keeper): 1d20 + 8 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 8 + 3 = 31
[dice=Diplomacy ("Aid Another"-ing!)]1d20+8[/dice]

O...Okay Kayal...u ok fam. u ok.

"And do what, precisely?" Kayal's expression dips to a frown. "Those taxes are required to fund the armories and guards that protect their lives and land and homes. The world is growing darker, Master Kels. Precautions are necessary. Not always pleasant, but necessary. Lord Fex is highly protective of his assets—of Longacre and its people. That he devotes such attention to their security and stability simply shows how seriously he considers these recent and so-far empty declarations against our Courts, Country, and Crown. If this so-called 'Reclamation' has intentions to drag the common folk into their needless acts of violence and sedition, then as able citizens we are charged to ensure such nonsense does not occur. Working for the Archbaron himself is merely an added bonus."

Kayal pauses; a rogue shadow crawling over the lip of the table to pick at a slice of bread and hover it tantalizingly close to his mouth. The priest gives the slightest shrug before crushing his teeth over the dry bit of loaf, forcing him to chew around his words. "Contrary to what you may have heard, my comrades and I are hardly the antagonists here, Master Kels." He swallows, returning to his slightly off-kilter smile. "We certainly weren't the ones to ambush and beat a man of faith unconscious in the street, for whatever that might be worth."

Am I bureaucrating enough? Too much?

As Rurisa goes to retrieve the bard, Kayal sighs a prayer for Kuthite mercy and coats himself with another of his spells (Enhanced Diplomacy); doing his best to appear wholly professional—standing across the desk with all the uncanny stillness his race typically exudes, knuckles cracking as his fists come together beneath his sleeves. There is something distinctly off about his own greeting as he gives Kels a short bow of the head; finishing with a look that one might offer a small, easily frightened animal.

"Good morning, Master Kels. Forgive me if you do not recall, but I am Kayal of Ridwan. No doubt you remember Ms. Thelvarn. Ms. Staelish. Archmage Vokrin. Master Penance." He indicates to each of their party in kind with a nod. "First, allow me to apologize on behalf of my comrades that your accommodation this evening has been...less than warranted. Fear not though; should you prove compliant with our investigations—we shall endeavor that your stay in Longacre remains as short and painless as can be reasonably possible." The Fetchling smiles, keen to imply that the bard's life presently teeters on the validity of his cooperation.

"Now I understand that you are a man of stories, Master Kels—and a...memorable one at that. To start, might I ask you for the tale that explains your being in Longacre? From one transient to the next, such as it is." He cocks his head to the side, yellowing eyes narrowing just a touch. "That you keep so many of its locals in your company speaks volumes of your character. I admit my curiosity—whatever did you share to make them so amicable?"

Is it obvious I want to see this Minstrel stick his foot in his mouth?

Diplomacy (Enhanced Diplomacy): 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 8 + 2 = 25+2 if Rurisa's Aid Another is still in play

Hey folks! Just want to apologize to my tables for being somewhat absent this week—I was impromptu hijacked for the UK Games Expo.

I'll endeavour to get onto something once I'm out of work here today. See if we can't get Kels talking one way or another.

Kayal barely responds, simply coaxing his head to one side, his quiet disgust palpable as he stares down at the seditious poster. "I am for whatever you all deem most appropriate," he says flatly, further explaining, "You are moderately aware of my talents. They are at your disposal, however you see fit."

Yikes. Best of luck with that!

Even if Kayal himself doesn't appear overly interested in the wafting posters, his shades understandably work to tear them from the walls in disgust.

"Nonsense," he drones, after coming across the third or fourth such image, and rips down a print, rolling it away as evidence. "Cheliax continues to surprise me. How can its people be expected to stand if they cannot first kneel?"

On arrival at the jail, the priest arrives quietly, poster in hand, and does his honourable best at a smile. "Good morning gentlemen. Ms Thelvarn." He unfurls the paper, hissing a word to Mage Hand the poster aloft, as though pressed to some invisible, floating wall. "We have a further problem."

If there's nothing of note, that's more than fine by me.

I like to think Kayal would spend the evening/early morning trying to pet Razelago's earless panther mascot during debriefing, if either of them are in attendance at the Ash House. Probably losing his hand in the process, but eh—details!

"Very well then. I will endeavor to keep our benefactor informed and reconvene on the morrow. I pray your nightmares prove liberating." Kayal nods with finality and, unless there is anything further required of him, quietly departs for the Ash House.

Kayal blinks, head cocking at the slightest angle as he speaks. "The prisons of flesh in which we reside are but veils upon spirit and might. I find these cells less all-encompassing, but adequate. I was not intending to leave them."

The priest blinks a second time, sickly eyes narrowing as he thinks. "Would you prefer I report to the Ash House? If Razelago expects a summary, it should be provided."

Hearing his name not once but twice, Kayal swiftly snatches his rope from an uncooperative shade and binds the still-sleeping bard with practiced ease—taking care to ensure that a conscious Kels has little chance to resist, much less escape their company. The Fetchling is only vaguely aware when one of his more malevolent shades steals a sponge from his pack and shoves it square into the performer's mouth, but Kayal doesn't bother to revoke it. In fact, the less chance Kels has of spouting his nonsense on the streets, the better.

That done Kayal raises back to his full height and grants Vokrin a courteous bow from the waist in thanks for his recognition before turning to Rurisa with a nod and rummaging about his person again, retrieving his writing implements and a clean sheet of parchment from the inner pockets of his robe. On the topic of shifting Kels himself, the shadow priest drones: "Let me see to this first. I would be glad to take one of the minstrel's arms if one of you might assist with the other."

One bound Bard, ready for delivery. Kayal will gladly throw together that notice, complete with proper citation and as many appropriate declaratives as his meagre profession scores allow.

Kayal simply looks to Cimri with a slightly bemused frown, heel of his quarterstaff clapping loud against the floor. "How else are they going to learn?"

Regardless; as Rurisa gives the word, he wills out a tendril that crawls and writhes between the floorboards, billowing through the unconscious woman's orifices like incense and smoke.

Cure Light Wounds: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6

"A night's rest should resolve the rest," he drones, advancing away to the stage, patting himself down for a rope with which to restrain the still-snoozing bard. Unfortunately his shadows seem to be wholeheartedly against the idea, shifting his gear against his will; evidently persistent in their desire to bludgeon the helpless musician to death...

Standard Action: Kayal casts CLW as directed. Move Action: He moves to the stage to restrain Kels before the sleep spell has chance to break...but is going to have some trouble doing it in a timely fashion, what with being Haunted.

Kayal does little more than broaden his smile as the barmaid lunges for him, though it noticeably flickers when his loyal shades successfully deflect the attack. "No, no, no. Higher. Apply your weight into the swing—" He adjusts the grip on his quarterstaff and proceeds to demonstrate.

Counter-Whack! (Bless): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 1
Counter-Whack Confirm (Bless): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12
Critical Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 5

Even as the blow connects, it's obvious that it lacks any real intensity. With the already unconscious bard and his heresies silenced almost before they could start, Kayal has little interest in the surrounding rabble. "Surrender, Master Bogart—else tusked maws may be the least of your nightmares."

You Raaaaang?

Apologies, apologies! I've been a slacky bastard this week. Should be back on to regular scheduling as intended~

Kayal retracts a hand to his pocket upon entering, having graced Cimri with a thankful nod for getting the door.

"Ladies. Master Bogart." He addresses the bar staff with an unsettling candor, striding forwards as if he were a regular of the establishment, letting his quarterstaff trail against the floor and foot of the counter as he goes. Upon finding Caggan's shadow across the bar, Kayal simply offers Rurisa a nod and draws his eyes upon the tavern owner—routed as he is—and Riley himself in turn.

"Minstrel Kels, I presume? I am Kayal of Ridwan, loyal subject of Longacre. So good to finally make your acquaintance, sir. Were that it in better circumstances." At that the sickening glow in Kayal's eyes radiates involuntarily, casting an unnerving gaze in answer to Riley's own intent stare. (30ft Cone. DC 15 Will or 1 Round Shaken) "In addition to Master Bogart's preexisting charges, I'm afraid there have been accusations of sedition, sirs, and blatant disregard for a number Lord Fex's proclamations. In order to assist with our investigations, we ask that you surrender your armaments and accompany us for further questioning." Unlike their soldier, Kayal has no problem with producing a smile. "Your cooperation with our inquiries would be greatly appreciated."

Appreciated indeed—but certainly not necessary.

Do try to be cordial, Ms. Thelvarn, Kayal's expression seems to say at the foot of the Tavern, giving the Hellrazor's armoured shoulder a pointed prod as she advances ahead, a fraction of his own shade seeming to tear off with her. Guidance - Take a +1 Competence Bonus to any one skill/attack/saving throw within the next minute.

That done, Kayal clears his throat and ripples another fragment of magic; this one fixing a purposeful grace to his demeanor and coaxing his shadows to life. Not that he expects entirely too much trouble, but Kayal's donning his Cloak of Shadows (+4 Armor, +2 Stealth) and casting Enhanced Diplomacy on himself - +2 Competence Bonus to any one Diplomacy or Intimidate check in the next minute. I figure I've got all these spells, seems pertinent to use some of them.

If the others are set, Kayal'll gladly open the door, presently armed with his not-especially-threatening walking staff. Still has a loaded Crossbow at his side. We're not having that chili incident happening twice.

Ah, even better.

Kayal, having managed to remain so painfully still that he may well have become a statue for the duration, looks back to the others for confirmation.

If we're all good to go, Kayal'll hiss a sharp litany to Zon-Kuthon and conjure a Bless spell en-route.

We're all assuming Kayal did, in fact, go and see if we could 'persuade' Mr Zoags to cooperate — maybe compile us a list of attendees for future use while he's at it. I meant to call that in a post earlier but I've only just gotten my network access back. Apologies that that wasn't explicitly made clear. If you want to get formal about it, Kayal'll bribe him with a modest hand of coins for his assistance: 2gp up front, 3gp more if he follows through, 5gp more if he can get a list of names of those attending and anything else particularly pertinent. 'The Archbaron provides' and all that.

Kayal levies his arms into his sleeves, bristling a little at Rurisa's question but managing to remain neutral as ever. "I've not the foggiest idea, ma'am." I do believe that's on Fez :P

Vokrin's suggestion has sound promise, but the dim glow of Kayal's eyes narrow at its conclusion. "I believed the notion of direct hostilities disregarded? Sixteen souls to combat our own is poorly balanced." The Fetchling leans his weight on a wall, his quarterstaff hugging to the crux of his neck. "Let Ingoe find their names. For now, we count how many flock to the minstrel's side—and gag him when they leave."

Kayal blinks silently from his position, offering small nods amidst the conversation but failing to add to the debate. Tempted as he is by the thought of simply plucking out the minstrel and Caggan in the midst of sedition, the thought of having to manage a bar of stumbling drunks does sound somewhat less appealing when put into the wider context and he quietly concedes the idea to reason.

His brow does rise somewhat at Penance's impromptu complement, and more still at the thought of persuading the tavern owner to be more than the oaf he appears—but Kayal's not about to argue. Rurisa has a point, if not one he would typically concur with.

"The man has curious fears," he notes, tone thoughtful as he recalls the frightened mutterings of a half-beaten brute. "They may prove exploitable, if you think it worth pursuing. Master Zoags could be amiable to further assistance, given the motivation, but I am of course open to whatever course of action you all deem most fit."

Been a teeny bit busy over the season myself, that's for certain!

Kayal opens with a brief cough before he begins. As if to aid with his explanation, or mocking it, his shadow begins to solidify and pull itself into silhouettes at his feet—as if performing some satire puppet show on the Fetchling's behalf.

"Longacre is proving largely dumb or uncooperative on the subject of Riley Kels. The location and host of the Bard remain unknown. We do, however, have the word of one Ingoe Zoags, for what it may be worth. Kels has a penchant for preaching and sates his appetite for it at the Last Stand, typically spitting nonsense pertaining to revolution and a certain, as-yet unspecified, knight." Kayal looks down to find a the unmistakable outline of the so-called 'Angel Knight' helm paraded across the flooring. He quickly draws a heel over the image, dismissing the outline back into indistinct shapes. "If Kels proves predictable, we should expect to find him at the Inn this evening, presuming we fail to give him ample reason to relocate."

That said, Kayal leaves a small pause, hands coming together at the small of his back. "If I might make a small suggestion? Caggan is already overdue his sentence. If we take him and this balladeer in the midst of their parading, we make a point to those in attendance."

"Then you are well forged, ma'am." Kayal dares another smile at the analogy, albeit with a wince. "Rector Maldune followed a similar theology. Your Hellrazors would be welcome in Ridwan."

"We have all we are deigned to receive." He shrugs. "All wounds fester when left to bleed. No doubt we will know more of this before the day is out."

Yikes, sorry for the holdup folks! Been a busy set of days.

Kayal nods along thoughtfully with Ingoe's explanation, face pressed into mild amusement as the word 'revolution' enters the conversation. No sooner than the man is done speaking does the Fetchling sigh with notable disappointment, though he's quick to smooth it over as a fluster. "Ah, well then! I suppose Caggan will inherit more than a few coppers from me yet," he hums, showing a few too many teeth in the process. "Thank you, Master Zoags, and I apologize for taking so much of your time. Please see that you enjoy your evening."

From the very moment he turns from the all-too-easily spooked commoner, Kayal's expression returns to relative normality, his hand and its shadow rubbing at where his cheeks hurt from the strain. "Confirmation of instigation and a transient presence of which we are already aware. I am beginning to consider you a unique production of this place, Ms. Thelvarn. Too many of these people are imbecilic." The priest sighs again, still soothing his facial features. "Shall we see if our interrogators are having any further success?"

Unless there's anything further, returning to the jail sounds right by me.

Having placed his crossbow and visible armaments neatly at the corner of what was Sheriff Staelish's desk, Kayal has been waiting at the door for his dismissal. His expression briefly mirrors Rurisa's at their inquisitor, but likewise the priest neglects to comment beyond a straightened spine and the clip of his booted heels coming together.

At Rurisa's word Kayal offers another of his nods and takes his leave, filed teeth shining in his jaw as he rolls up his sleeves to reveal bare arms and empty hands, the better to appear an 'appeaser' in this abhorrent situation. Given the earlier dissent scattered among the people, a little faux sympathy likely seems required, and he explains as much before settling into a demeanour that speaks of nauseatingly pleasant greetings, empathy, and no doubt a few other pointless motivations.

"If, after the first five minutes of this, you can restrain your inevitable want to incur violence on my person, I shall deftly restrain the urge to invite it. Deal?"

Diplomacy: Gather Information (Thrune Informant + Enhanced Diplomacy): 1d20 + 8 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 8 + 1 + 2 = 12
Wow no. Racial: Emissary - 1/day 'Roll Twice, Take Highest' of any one Diplomacy/Bluff Check
Diplomacy: Gather Information (Thrune Informant + Enhanced Diplomacy): 1d20 + 8 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 8 + 1 + 2 = 21

In addition: If anyone wants to get wise about why they're asking about a minstrel of all things, Kayal's playing the dumb ethnically-Varisian tourist. "Surely if anyone's got local news and stories to tell, bardic sorts are the first port of call." etc.

Bluff (Secret Keeper): 1d20 + 8 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 8 + 3 = 20

Kayal nods along with each comment. Each one is as well reasoned as the next so far as the Fetchling is concerned. After a moment of thought he blinks between Rurisa and Cimri, an idea slowly taking hold.

"If preparations are to be made, I could find use for the daylight." As contradictory as that is, coming from a Nidalese shadow priest, he hastens to clarify: "Bards rarely leave few impressions. Let me coax what I can from the rabble. Even if I should not find this 'Kels', anything would be more than a name. And should we later arrive to find the Tavern and its patrons daring to repeat their earlier delinquency..." He pauses, adding through clenched teeth, "Then we deal with it."

Absolutely. Maybe throw together a master list somewhere of what needs divvying. I can always toss up one of my inventory spreadsheets if everyone's up for it. I'm a sucker for management.

Neato!

Kayal offers a final nod as the party takes their leave. He does not say another word for the duration of their exit, but there is a definite fidget in his hands and a ripple to his shadows. An eagerness poorly contained.

"We have been given an opportunity. Lest it be squandered, all that remains is where we begin: with the minstrel, or Caggan." The Fetchling presses at his fingers, twisting individual joints till each emits a nauseating pop. Kayal's yellow stare falls upon his comrades, waiting. "Ladies? Sirs?"

Still flexing his fingers, Kayal ultimately palms his hands at the small of his back, thumb rubbing at the burn as Razelago's form is revealed. There is the briefest moment of amusement and eager curiosity about him, but the priest manages to keep it largely in check.

"Glad to make your acquaintance proper, sir," he says to the cherubic-fly, head lowered as appropriate—though not quite as lowly as it was when offered to Fex himself.

Keen to get down to business, Kayal's spine straightens. "How might we assist?"

As the others debate and consider the specifics of the hell-forged artifact, Kayal simply rolls up his sleeve, checking his fingers and palm for blemishes as he waits for Penance to be done with his oath. The promise of pain does not quite bring the same gleam to his expression that their gnomish companion wears, but Kayal gives a clear nod of approval upon Fex's explanation. A proper contract should have consequences. A price. If Hell and the Crown wanted to barter with the Midnight Lord's currency of choice, then surely, as a scion of the Kuthite Church, he was obligated to oblige.

Once Penance has freed the crystal from his grasp and moved an appropriate distance, Kayal offers up his own without so much as a thought. Amusingly, a few subtle shades crawl up and about his arm as he recites the binding script, eager as they are to press the dusky flesh deeper into the stone's heat.

"I swear absolute allegiance to Archbaron Darellus Fex, Her Infernal Majestrix Queen Abrogail II of the Thrice-Damned House of Thrune, and the Empire of Cheliax."

Once done Kayal forcibly retrieves his smoking hand from the stone and, with a short bow in gratitude, wordlessly backs away from it so as to leave the pedestal vacant for another.

Perception: 1d20 - 2 ⇒ (20) - 2 = 18

Having scrubbed himself to the point of pain, a well-groomed and stainless Kayal at first follows a step or two behind the others, glancing about the property with a arms leashed at his back, clearly enamored with Scarlet Crown's eponymous motif. Perhaps it's all a matter of familiarity, for the dower demeanour and scurrying urgency of the manor's staff reminds him all too much of a place he once called home, and he flinches a smile at the sight of tapered crossbows and guardsmen glowering from above.

Alas his stiffened posture is more than a formality, as it's quite clear the priest is trying (and largely failing) to keep his roving shades in check. They do at least offer a certain unnerving gravitas to his motions, and with a few hisses of Shadowtongue at least seem to settle into a singular shadow at his feet.

Kayal does not typically give away too much upon initially being received, but to Fex he offers his best impression of an honest greeting: forcing some of the more mortal features he maintains to give way to darker tones and yellowish pools at his eyes. "Razelago is too kind, my lord. I am Kayal; in both name and origin. While I would not dare speak for my comrades, that I might serve to aid you in these most distressing times would be an honor." That said, Kayal peers about the room; its distinct lack of screens managing to both amuse and disappoint at once. "Would that your hand were here to thank for his recommendations..."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24 + 2 when interacting with entities in evil governments, conspiracies, or authorities (Murky Allegiance)

Dem First Impressions

Kayal drags his attention to Razelgo's screen proper, brows firmly raised. After a moment of consideration the priest gives a small but resolute nod.

"As you will it." He wipes his hand on his still-stained robe, looking down at himself with a frown. "I suppose a bit of cleaning up is in order."

Unless anything further is required of him, the priest gives a proper bow, wincing just a tad in the process, and withdraws downstairs accordingly.

Kayal stands off to the side as Rurisa speaks, the worst of the bruising proving rather difficult to discern against the dusk of his skin, or else gone entirely. He still hasn't bothered to clean off the blood though, and narrows back at the oddly earless panther in kind.

"Certainly the majority at least," he corrects Rurisa's final line, following their Hellrazor's report with a small addendum. He drags a finger over the drying smear, rubbing crimson between his finger and thumb. "I believe I owe Fex a curative."

Kayal continues to stare blankly, oddly devoid of his slow and purposeful blinks, his nostrils still dressed with bloodied trails. A moment or two after Rurisa's query, one of his shades seems to limber up from the ground and pull at his trouser-leg, rousing the Fetchling from his daze.

If Kayal knows anything to that effect, he'll offer to pass such a request along later, if necessary, or flat out offer to temporarily guard the jail himself if needs be. Knw (Local): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

Following Rurisa's kick to the deputy, Kayal moves to offer help in returning Curtwyn to his feet, the better to be done with this unpleasant detour from their schedule. Unlike Penance the priest remains remarkably tight-lipped but for a low, deeply enthusiastic voice that crawls out as he offers a shadow-encrusted hand.

"Won't you give us an excuse, sir?"

Aid Another (Intimidate): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

No complaints here; made for some pleasant reading. Weather seems to be getting a little crazy everywhere today.

Just the one will suffice, thank you.

A few moments of gargling pass before Kayal begins to rouse awake, the potion's contents visibly helped down by the insistent silhouette of a fist at his throat. For a short while he simply lies there, squinting up at the daylight and swallowing the blood from his nose, before his hand rises to his face and forcibly re-aligns the cartilage with a sickening crack. The priest doesn't offer much in the way of vocal gratitude as he calmly pulls himself upright and dusts off the street from his already tarnished robes, pausing only to take in the scenery of three bloody masses—tended to by Asmodean magic—and a man in miserable surrender.

Spitting off more red saliva from his teeth, Kayal casts his gaze between Rurisa, Penance, and the rebellious deputies at their feet. While he may still restrain himself from speaking, the risen brow and rattle in his eye broadcast the thought well enough: What do we intend?

That the priest personally wants to wants to break the whimpering man's kneecaps and compound his grief is, to that, a secondary concern.

Reverted the map back and adjusted the icons to where I think Penance tried to place himself. Hope that helps with the missing token blip.

(And as a note, I think I saw that Cimri's portrait's been added to Paizo's list of avatars if you particularly care, Fez)

Three consecutive 19s? At 1st level? By all rights frankly I should be dead.

Kayal manages to look his assailant in the eye as the hit connects, and the Kuthite can't help but grin and spit a lob of bloody saliva in their direction before dropping directly to his knees. A second later his skull rebounds on Longacre ground, complete with a rather nasty sound that suggests his nose may have taken the brunt of the impact.

I believe we're all sorts of flavours of Lawful Evil in here, which is nice. Like ice cream. Ice cream flavoured with tempered rage, apathy, megalomania, a few pinches of sadism...

More seriously Kayal's...not really thinking that far ahead. He may be too busy spitting blood from his gums for a while. I stand by the general consensus that an example needs to be made though. Whatever the motivation, it's still a blatant disregard for Fex's authority. Can't be having that.

Penance may be too busy being excited that something is finally bleeding. Who knows.

Quick and painless? You disappoint me, sir.

It's pretty great. If I make it out of this with my teeth (and life, naturally), then might I suggest someone pinning them up with a note explaining their sudden and immediate suicide?

Guards will be guards. I fully expect to be unconscious in short order.

In unrelated news, Kayal doesn't know his compass points. Replace Western with Eastern in my last post. Map placement's correct though.

I may or may not have been slightly distracted when I was writing that up. M'bad.

Kayal twitches a little at the ex-deputies' cry, and a black ichor spills from his hands to roam and coat not only his own weapons, but those of his allies in a terrible, hungering sheen. The Lord's favor won't last, of course, but a few precious moments should be more than sufficient for this petty rabble.

There's that Bless spell. Everyone gains +1 Morale to Attack Rolls and Saves vs Fear for 1 Minute.

That done, Kayal's shades urge him to move, and the inky Fetchling recklessly skims by the raging Hellrazor and those hostiles beyond, cutting off the western alley but provoking two AoOs in the process.

Noted.

...I shall be hurt in all dimensions.

I was about to say something about incorrect phrasing...but then again, I am your healer. Your accuracy is intact.

[/Shadow-Boxes]

I've 10 Strength, a hammer, and a handful of nails. Let's rock!