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Mateo returns to find everyone staring at him, his eyebrow arching just a little bit in question before he gives a friendly wave and makes his way upstairs. His words were delivered and Rickety knew how things would play out however he wanted to play it. His dragon was resting and needed protection. Any would-be heroes would have the Devil to dance with. Throughout the day, Mateo would come downstairs for drinks, meals, and drinks. He would chat with those that wished to, especially the especially brave if foolish girl who had teased him earlier. Most of the time would be spent with Syl, washing her with a cloth, maintaining her weapons, patching her clothing, and teasing her relentlessly so she was motivated to rise from the bed and either stab him or kiss him. There was no mention of Rickety or what he discussed with the man and, if pressed, would only give a sly grin.

The next morning, was dressed far more subtle and reasonable. His ridiculous get-up had been saved and packed away, saved for a night that morale was low on the ship and he needed to showcase his mighty thighs again. His clothes were washed of the dirt and mended, holes stitched back together after being handed to the local seamstress. In his trademark hat and with his fancy yet subtle eyepatch, Mateo would come downstairs and sit at the table with his compatriots. He drinks a cup of coffee, freshly brewed, and savors how the warmth resonates through his body. His eye lingers on Rickety for only a moment before passing over towards Captain Pegsworthy. He tips his hat silently to the man, looking towards Lanni and waiting to hear what the negotiation would be.

The man stands there with an angry scowl, arms crossed, exuding an aura of menace that keeps his workers out of his fiery range. Mateo moved up to stand beside the man, his hands resting on his belt as he looks over the Good Intentions. The team was working their very best, shifting and changing its appearance while maintaining the original ship's seaworthiness and speed. For a long moment, the two would simply coexist. Mateo was well-aware of the man's slowly growing ire beside him as he bounced on his heels, looking back at Rickety at long last.

"Thank you for not calling your men onto her and us. You are a consummate professional." Mateo was earnest in his thanks, his good eye returning to the men at work. Some of Pegworthy's crew passed nearby, talking amidst themselves. Clearing his throat, Mateo would speak. "I wish to repay your kindness with what you seek; closure."

"Now before you get carried away, I want you to know that I've verified nothing. I just can...sense these things. I am a man of violence because I enjoy the art of it. Syl...she learned to love it because it was how she survived. With that said, I feel I'm qualified to help explain it as you seem a logical man." Turning towards him, Mateo would continue. "First, I want you to think of the circumstances. You are Rickety, the most prominent and trusted squibber in the Shackles. Countless pirates turn to you to hide their ill-gotten goods. None would betray you because your connections and wealth are immense. You are a danger, not in battle, but in influence. Yet for some reason, my Dragon killed your son."

"The son of Rickety, one of the most powerful men in the Shackles without having a target on his back. This place must've been his personal kingdom, the prince to the king. Amidst the pirates, one could forget their place. One could believe that no harm could ever come to them because they were the prince. Who would strike down a prince?" Mateo said softly, shrugging. "What the prince wanted, the prince could take. Beloved by his father, his antics unseen, he would try to take something he should not...someone they should not."

"This woman is fearless, murderous, and I fell in love the moment she plunged a blade in between my ribs. Yet she feared this place. She feared you and it is not because you have a bounty on her head. Perhaps it was because you were a loving father who didn't know better." Mateo turned, his smile that he had worn throughout the conversation gone from his face. "If your son was still alive, I'd bleed the answers from him. I'd make him confess and I'd cut his throat in front of you so you'd have your damned closure. I was not there but I know what I feel; your son was a monster. He just met a more dangerous one. He deserves whatever fate Pharasma has for him."

"I don't care if you call off the bounty or not. In fact, I welcome it. They'll be skilled, dangerous, and I get to watch the ambition bleed from their eyes when they witness who they're dealing with. I will kill each and every one of them Rickety, every single one. And if for some strange reason should your people succeed, I will come here and I will collect my pound of flesh from you and those you care for. You do not scare me because I am in love." The straight-forward stare disappeared into a mirthful grin as he clapped the man's shoulder, nodding. "Now that that unruly business is done, I hope you have the answer you want and that you understand your choices here. I cannot wait to see the workmanship you and yours make! Have a good day."

"Wait...didn't Voz's notes mentions something about the Scarlet Triad? They were supporting her financially right? As long as she got those damn portals working?" Dario says after taking a moment to recollect on their information.

I concur with Captain Morgan above. I don't run Pathfinder or D&D often but I do tend to run a lot of narratively-focused games. The kind of class a player selects lets you know what they want to do. A fighter suggests that the player wants to kick ass at fighting, a rogue wants to be skilled and usually sneaky, a cleric wants to deal with religion and divine powers, etc..

If a player wants to play an investigator, they want to investigate and be good at it. They want to take charge of those situations and lead the way at the party. Instead of figuring out ways to try and minimize them or make it worse, focus on how to make sure the others have their spotlight moments and make sure that the investigator feels like that they are doing what they are supposed to be doing. Give them mysteries, let them figure out the trick, let them catch the bad guy off-guard or skip something because they're brilliant. Support them and make it interesting.

~~During The Last Week~~

Araton finds himself deep within the library of Cardinal Thorne, looking through the various blasphemous texts that account unholy rituals, heretical secrets, and dark knowledge. He could spend years here, wandering the dim corridors surrounded by the dark bookshelves. Yet he can hear the whispers pushing through his being, calling him deeper into the shadows, his Uncle's voice teasing into his ear with promises of power. Soon the bookshelves begin to show the dust upon them, the books becoming leathery and worn, the journals of madmen and women blessed by the nine layers of Hell to spill their secrets. Traveling down one path, Araton stops and hears the chorus of voices rise in his ear.

Like a spilling tidal wave, they all spill from one book. The cacophony becomes almost deafening until he grabs the spine of a tattered journal, retrieving it from the shelf as silence consumes him. His eyes look over the simple design but two things catch his eye. The first was the insignia of House Fal upon the corner. The second was the initials of "R.F." signed inside the cover.

Rozas Fal.

"Is this it, Uncle?" Araton asks softly, opening through it. Though imperfect, not nearly as precise as it was before, was the ritual he had been in the process of enacting before the Inquisition had seized him and destroyed his home. Rage and excitement ran through him as a dangerous smile spread across his face. There was no time like the present.

Within the ritual room, nestled deep within Thorne's manor, Araton knelt within the many-pointed star dedicated to the Prince of Darkness. Slaves stood nearby, blank-faced as they slit the throat of farm animals taken from nearby farms. The blood spread across the floor, spilling into the lines of silver and sulfur, as Araton chanted in the dark tongue of Hell itself. Grabbing a beautifully crafted dagged, he lifted it to his chest and over his heart.

"<To you, my lord, I give my mind. To you, my lord, I give my body.>" The infernal dripped off of his tongue as he pushed the dagger into his chest, just enough to spill red down upon the scattered papers. He carved Asmodeus's simply into his chest, his eyes flickering brightly with his true heritage. [b]"<To you, my lord, I give my soul. For the glory of Hell. For the glory of you. For the glory of me>" The words escaped him as he finished the symbol. A last act of faith, he rose the dagger and plunged it towards his heart. Pain surged through him as he pierced deep, a shallow cry escaping him. Warmth spilled down his hands and for a moment came a chill of the grave. Was he not worthy? Was he forsaken? Araton's eyes flickered upwards to see a man standing before him. It was not Asmodeus but a tiefling, red-skinned and with a wicked smile upon his face. His chest was carved with the very same symbol and Araton knew he was gazing upon his long-dead uncle. The chill became warm and then...it began to burn.

It was like a fire had been born in his chest, piercing through his very being. His eyes stared at the room to see the devils and victims assembled, pleased grins and horrified expressions alike. His uncle burned before him like ash, falling apart bit by bit into that glowing wound. Since he had performed the first ritual, he knew his Uncle was somewhere within his mind guiding him. They were pushing him further along, always further along, this dark pathway. Yet now that vagueness gave way to certainty as the weight of his late uncle's consciousness poured into him. It sat upon his own, pushing downwards, crushing him. Crushing him.

"A-a trap..." Araton whimpered for a moment as his fingers dug into the ground hard enough to crack his nails, staining his hands red with blood. "You...you want to take me?" He could feel the cage surrounding him slowly, his vision blurring as his ancestor infused into him.

"It was always the plan, my dear nephew." Araton said smoothly, smirking slightly with a wicked smile. "I have so much still to do and you...you have had your fun. You may watch and I will lead us. Sleep now, I sha-" His hand snapped to his neck with an impossibly tight grip, choking the words.

"I-I will be no prisoner. I will be no servant. I am Araton Fal, last son of House Fal, and...I...will...be...WORTHY!" Araton screamed, fighting against the darkness. He seized that weight in his mind and lifted it, twisting it in his failing body, before finishing the cage. He could feel the screams of so many betrayed in his whole being, his body shuddering as he pulled the dagger out and threw it to the ground. No blood stained it but he could feel the burn of Lord Asmodeus's sigil upon his chest. His body felt exhausted, breathing hard as he leaned back on his knees. A low laugh escaped him, his grin spreading wide as he felt that pressure in his head.

"Good try, uncle, good try. I was chosen. You may watch, you may guide, and I will take us to the summit of this path. Praise Asmodeus." Araton said, running his fingers along his pale chest and the dark markings that had sunk into his skin.

The next day, his fellow Bound would recognize that the nobleman had changed. Faster, stronger, more vicious, the aura around him felt positively vile. Against the effects of those aligned with the higher planes, his body had grown resistant and durable. Araton could feel the will of his ancestors and the Dark Lord mix into a potent power. He was ready to be unleashed upon Talingarde.

Nuruk was pleased to just see the woman cured of her madness and her transformation, returned to some semblance of normalcy. His grin was contagious even as his stomach rumbled in disappointment that the cake was not comfortable with being eaten. Yet the chance to rest on solid land and out of the mud sounded incredible. Before he spoke though, Willow would lean up carefully to whisper about the hut in his ear and the dragonborn's face would flash through a dozen shades of gold.

"YES. LET'S STAY." He nearly shouted, the cake quivering for a moment before strangely turning to stare at him. A sheepish look spread across his face "Apologies...let us help you clean this place."

As for Yasami running away on her own, I would like to explain.

I think Yasami can, at this point, outrun a LOT of things. And has okay stealth to sneak about.

I didn't want the group to end up with analysis paralysis, which we are probably bordering now.

Fern - I don't want a separate adventure branch. Don't want to be that player. Just let me know what rolls you want from me real quick, and let us know what I/we found. If anything at all, that is.

Thank you! <3

Same. Dario is just acting as a pistol sniper ala Halo 1 right now. Not planning on getting any closer than to cover her.

Settling Syl onto the bed, he would smile at her very gently as he pushed back the dark hair that covered her face. Finding a cloth, he would rinse it in water before washing at her wounds and stripping her armor off of her form. It was a meticulous task but it kept his brain focused. Mateo cared much about his friends but he rarely stayed around long enough for bonds to grow. It was easier to attach and pull away, savor the moment and let it go. Lanni was supposed to be that, an interesting man who piqued his interest. That changed when they ended up on Harrigan's ship together. He did not expect to meet his dragon there, a woman who reflected the adoration of violence. She was brutal, vicious, unpolished, a survivor. She knew only herself but determinedly, he wanted to be with her. The fact that she nearly was gone made his hands ache. The thought of the loss made his vision blur but the swashbuckler couldn't tell if it was from tears or from rage.

His thoughts were disturbed as she moved, groaning softly in pain. His lips met her forehead, his brow furrowed to keep the fearful look from spreading across his face. A smile forced its way across his face as he whispered into her ear. "My love, just rest. I won't leave you. I'm right here. I'll keep you safe." Whether she heard him or not, she would calm down and finally still. Her chest rose with shallow but easy breathes, calming Mateo down softly.

Standing up, still mud covered and covered with insect gore, he would grab the shabby chair from the desk nearby and drag it over. Spinning it on its legs, he sat down and slouched back with his sword drawn. Those blue eyes lost their soft shine that they had when he stared upon her, almost becoming grey and cold as he stared at the doorway. He wasn't sure if Rickety had heard Des. He wasn't sure if he would send men for them. It didn't matter though, Mateo was watching the door.

The swashbuckler waited, waiting to see if he'd have to kill everyone that wasn't with them or not.

Nah, I would never be so cheesy and I adore Fern too much to ever treat her so badly. The thought is what is hilarious; just kicking my own ass super hard every night so I can keep the bandages going lol.

"It...yes...but..." His eyes narrow for a moment and he rubs at his chin. "I don't think it works that way..."

Baradim is a full-blooded orc, rescued by Knights of Lastwall after a rival tribe decimated his own and he barely survived an assault. Taught to fight in defense of Vigil, he was there to witness the rise of the Whispering Tyrant and the complete destruction of everything he had known...again. Harrowed by the loss of everything, he ended up on a wagon working as a guard towards a little town colloquially known as "Plaguestone".

It was here that he found love, his courage, and the determination to carry on his brother and sister-in-arms' dreams and hopes, their holy symbols hanging from his neck. Just today, he brought his blade down and ended a terrible threat to the small town and is almost done with his small adventure heading west.

Baradim is a full-blooded orc fighter, fighting with sword and shield, and was going to be delving into barbarian and Bastion archetype. Lawful Neutral but leaning towards good, he found a hapless group of would-be heroes and felt responsible to their well-being and they helped bring him back from the dark.

A short campaign but a beloved character nonetheless. Hopefully, I'll get a chance to play him again sometime.

I'm fine with it being a mistake; lots of stress, a recent betrayal, it could lead to interesting events <3

Wouldn't want them to learn how to organize, nope. Not that at all. <.<

It sucks because I am friends and enjoy a lot of 3rd Party stuff. That being said, I am glad that Pathfinder/D&D is actually not one of my favorite games (though you'd have a good argument against that with how many games I'm in :P)

Bjorn staggers back from the blade that sticks into his side, hitting the wall and sliding down it ever so slowly. The rage slowly leaves him, his breathes growing haggard and heavy. The others were pressing in on her though, aiming to take her life if they could.

"I ain't done...I...I'm just...tired." Bjorn slumps against the wall, holding the bleeding wound before his head falls forward.

Vitals - -3/28 HP

Karley goes off about what Nuruk assumed to be some kind of playwright before she casted a spell at the poor, cursed, slightly overwhelmed ogre. Before he can stop her, the ring casts whatever it was casting and a ray shot out. At the end of it, some strange, watery realm appeared with a man there. Nuruk really couldn't make it out but before he could figure out how to help the transformed woman, Karley's hands burst into fire. His nostrils flared wide and his patience had finally hit its limit.

"Karley Rumblemuffin." The dragonborn didn't shout her name but there was certainly more air in the words than usual. Standing up, he would pick her up by the waist so her flaming hands could not grab the table, the plates, or anything else that could catch on fire. "Come with me. We're going to the pool." He would say, leaving the others to deal with the pixies as he carried her to the water. The plan was to try and douse her hands off before she could cause more damage.

"Why are you picking on this poor woman? I know trickery is a common thing but that lady is cursed. She has a madness upon her, much like Elmer did." Nuruk says with exasperation, rubbing as his brow as he tries to pour out the water upon her hands from his canteen first. Lowering his head down so he can be eye-level with her, he'd gently nudge at her shoulder. "Is everything okay? Do you want to talk? I-I know a...lot...is happening with you. I'm here for you if you need it. Even if there are infinite you's, you're my Karley and I want to help..."

Hey there folks! Everyone's favorite, sickly anti-paladin here! We're looking over character sheets and stuff so if you have the time to update them, please do. Some of the sheets are missing backgrounds, having adjusted to the build rules, or both.

Personally, I'm less interested in the mechanics because our benevolent, kind, merciful, and definitely-won't-smite-us DM has given us a big, badass build rules to create some truly potent villains. Even ineffective builds can be effective here with how many feats are being added to the mix along with our template abilities and the potency of gestalt.

With that in mind, I am (personally) looking to what the characters can add to the story. What rivals does the character have and drives them forward? What makes them likeable as a villain? Why would they serve Asmodeus and why would an organization dedicated to him the overturn of a Mitran government select them?

I ain't asking you to figure that out here in the recruitment but look more into what you want to accomplish, how it meshes with everyone, and what the story will be. That's what I'm going to mostly be looking for. Please also try to avoid completely shenanigan builds; our DM already has enough on their plate :P

Looking forward to seeing updates and reading more! Once your character sheet is finished, background is there, and it is updated, let us know here so we can give it a proper peek before the deadline. Thank you! <3

Electricity scars across the stony skin of the warrior, the monstrosity writhing in pain from the battering it had received. It stumbled back some, leaving its chest open. The orc had no idea if the abomination had the same anatomy as any other humanoid but with a wide enough slash, he was sure he could find the heart.

Strike v.s. Flat-Footed: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (11) + 13 = 24Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (5, 1) + 4 = 10
Hopefully, that'll do it.

Cutting down the monstrosity, its blackened ichor spraying onto the orc fighter, he would turn his attention towards the woman that was the source of all this pain and suffering. Cycles had to come to an end and if that meant she must die for his promise to remain true, then he would.

With heavy footsteps, he approached the alchemist while twirling the magical blade in his bloodied hand. Tilting his head, those black-yellow eyes would stare down at her.

"Surrender or die. I care not which." He was too slow to be able to strike again, his blows missing but keeping her on her toes. If she tried to break away though, he would punish her for it.

Vitals - 49/59 HP; AC: 22
Actions - Strike. Stride. Stride.
Reaction - Attack of Opportunity

Dario watches the exchange between the celestial being and the others, his eyes watching the jungle undergrowth. Plenty of blood had been spilled and if his travels had taught him anything, it was that nature abhorred waste. Even the kishi would make a fine meal for scavengers or for those who were looking for an easy meal.

"The Inheritor, Caiten. He means Iomedae, his swollen lip is just making the 'm's sound a little funny." The gunslinger would pipe up from the tree he was leaning against, taking little bites from the piece of trail bread he had fished out from his backpack.

She mentioned his blush and the man would stand up straight, clearing his throat as he drew his weapons, spun them awkwardly around for a moment, before sheathing them back. His brow furrowed as he turned back towards her, hissing low.

"You just almost got your g*+$!~n throat ripped out and you're going to flirt with me? I got your g*%%+!n blood on my fingers!" He scolded at first, ripping his hat off of his head as he stared daggers up at her. His face was as red as her wound as he blinked a few times.

It was easy to run off but the truth was that was getting him nowhere except a missing molar. Those crisp eyes stared at him curiously and he would put his hat back on before lowering his gaze.

"Sorry, you ain't a child and I ain't your parent." He turned to leave, took a step, before stepping back towards her and tilting his head to stare up at her. "If you like it so much, why don't you buy me a drink when this is done." His statement was full of irritation at being unsettled by her again and again, clearing his throat one last time. "I-if you'd like. I'd like that."

"Excuse me." He would turn, hope as few people as possible were paying attention to them and not the angelic figure beside them, before he moved off to keep an eye on the perimeter in case their hunter was not alone.

I'll post it in the chat in a little bit. I was doing some looking at the numbers for folks and I was curious, oh good DM, if I could potentially add another template onto my own? I love the flavor of the Haunted One and wouldn't want to lose it but I also do realize that its fluff is quite a bit behind what other folks are grabbing.

I would like to combine it, if possible, with this template here. It could've been what Araton and the ghost of his great-great Uncle may have been searching for and trying to perfect before he was captured and sent to Brandenscar.

What do you think? I just want to be able to keep up, stats-wise, with the front-liners to some degree since they're going to be hitting super heavy.

Nuruk's eyes had a hard time focusing on the pixie that manifested before him, those red eyes staring down at the little figure standing on the end of his snout. His face split into a small smile; this was at least the beginning of a parley with the Wee Folk. Another appeared before him on his right, fluttering with dragonfly wings. Another appeared on his left, softly speaking with moth wings. When they mentioned keeping him, he let out a belly laugh and shook his head before regarding the three of them.

"It is my pleasure to meet you three but no, you may not keep me. I am already owed to o-...two...others. I am Nuruk Faerjhan, Knight of the Order of Brambles in service to Queen Titania, lover of Willow Breakbough. While you cannot keep me, I can be your friend." He puts down his greataxe, offering the head of it to the two floating in the air to have a moment to stand. "Please, tell me your names. It is only polite while we talk, yes? See what we can do to turn this party around?"

He blushes as soon as Willow and Vash return, giving them a small wave before shaking his head. The dragonborn was confident in his position. The pixies wanted to talk and he was willing to discuss things with them. If they decided to push it...well...they were perfectly set for him to breathe fire on them all.

"Not yet! These friends have been playing tricks on the table. We're seeing what we could do now, aren't we ladies?"

Hello there folks! Araton here, your local antipaladin!

So far for builds and such, Araton is a supportive front-liner and uses Oracle stuff for buffing and the Ancestors purview for extra support. He fights well enough up front in combat and I am looking to go down the Intimidation-line of debuffing in combat.

I've helped the other player building the half-dragon to get their character set up; they're fighting with a scimitar in hand and secondary natural attacks. Lots of flanking and all that goodness as well. She'll hit hard and hit often while scouting and disabling traps as well.

I haven't really sat through Sarela's but I know it is an interesting combination.

"That was a solid strike Joran, a real fearsome blow. Surprised the thing didn't keel over just from that first strike." Mateo said as they made their way forward now, his weapons sheathed and a soft whistle leaving him as they left the allosaurus's corpse for opportunists to savor.

As the trip moved on, the smell of old corpses filtered in and a frown spread across his face. The sight of many of these creatures, dried out and desiccated, brought a frown to his face as he stayed his blade. It seemed that nature had had its way with them and there was no more need for violence.

"How...unfortunate. Seems like there will be no fight left here." The splash of water caught his ear and Mateo would turn, following behind the oracle and wizard towards the edge of the makeshift dam. He would approach the side, staring down into the water to see the young naga looking up at them with fear in its eyes.

"A child." Mateo said softly, letting out a deep sigh. He shook his head, looking down at his rapier, before becoming resolute. "I'll make it clean and painless, if need be. It'd be a shame to let it suffer the same fate."

"Oh, I am with Cevendyll here." Dario says, looking back down at the sulking man. "His life is his reward and a hard-earned lesson. He just tried to kill all of us. I've shot people for less." Dario would say, slipping the satchel on his shoulders before grabbing the whip and unwrapping man's wrists. "Now the armor. You get the clothes on your back, a knife, and some food and water. You're an adventurer, that should be enough for you to get back to civilization safely as long as you keep your head low and your pride in check."

dramatic murder.

"Mmmm...Cricket is it? A fitting name. Shame for the reason." She kept this smile upon her face, one saying "excuse me please? I'm not responsible for my mistakes.". He remained close to her before taking off his hat and placing it on the nearby table, throwing his long hair over his shoulder. "You remind me of myself. Can I show you something?"

"See, in Cheliax, slavery is quite legal. Halflings being the targets of choice. Easy to intimidate, easy to control. When I was a boy your age, there was a known slave hunter by the name of Jasper Silvereyes. A real dangerous sort, colder than death itself. I met him." Mateo begins to narrate, smiling as if remembering a treasured memory. "He was a halfling! A halfling that hunted his own! A real son of a b#!+&. He didn't stand any taller than you, a short little man carrying himself like death despite the fuzzy toes and chubby cheek. It was ridiculous and like you, I couldn't help but laugh. I laughed hard, I cried, even as he tried to intimidate me..."

Mateo would reach up and lifted his eyepatch, revealing the ruined skin underneath. The scar of a blade stared underneath his eye and slipped upwards and deep. The flesh was gnarled and dark, his orbital cavity empty. The scar resumed along the top, exposing the skull underneath before ripping through his eyebrow. If she turned to look away, the gentle hand that had lifted her chin would tighten to hold her gaze.

"He cut me so fast that he took my eye right through my eyelids. I screamed and writhed but no one helped me. Blood-covered, I was taken by the guards and thrown into a cell before I could reach Calistria's temple. By the time my parents collected me, the damage was too much." The smile had remained on Mateo's face as he spoke but there was an intensity in his remaining eye, one that bored through her. "So heed my lesson...because even a cricket knowns when to be quiet. If you're not one of the most dangerous people in the room, figure out who is." He would release her and recover his eyepatch before putting his hat back upon his head.

"I believe I saw you speaking to Captain Lanni a few days ago. You're joining our crew, right?" Mateo said with a pat on her shoulder. "I am Officer Mateo Nikas. I'm here for your morale...and I decide who joins me in the front for boarding. Be seeing you, Cricket." The man would turn away from the girl, tipping his hat towards the other with a mischievous smile on his face. Not surprising, his bottom looked marvelous in the skirt.

Mateo froze when he heard the laugh burst through the room, his body tensing for just a moment. The grin upon his face grew a little wider now as he turned towards the source of the laughter. The merry intent of death was in his eyes until he came across the sight of the young girl. He stared for a moment, his smile faltering just a little bit, and the hand on the hilt of his blade stopped.

He strut over towards her, his hat hiding his face in a veil of shadows as he approached. The tension in the air thickened as he stood before her. No words were said as that crisp blue eyes stared down at the girl for a moment that was just a few seconds longer than comfortable.

Intimidate: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (1) + 10 = 11
Oh, we're rerolling that for sure lol.
Intimidate: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (19) + 10 = 29

Mateo had a presence about him, one that didn't need threatening words to be said. It was in the air around him, a stillness like a sneak ready to bite and ensnare its meal. He would reach out, a finger underneath her chin, to lift her head as he quirked his own to the side. The menacing smile remained even as he looked her over.

"I do look pretty ridiculous, don't I?" Mateo asked in a low voice. "You...are braver than most and for such a young age. I respect that. What is your name, girl?"

The next day, Mateo came down in what could only be considered a crime against all things fashionable; his leather boots washed off, the black fishnet shirt clinging to his lithe and muscular form where it was visible underneath the finely made leather armor. The cape was sadly missing, the magical one he had found having been collected by Syl and washed off to show black and red of Cheliax. The crocodile-skin belt was tied off on his form, the massive brass buckle polished to a gleem. The leather skirt was improvised with cut slits to allow his shapely, thick thighs the space to maneuver. The dragon earcuff, made of black marble and brass metal, was affectionately placed on his ear opposite of the finely made eyepatch he wore. The orange knee-high socks stuck out just barely above his boots, though it seemed that he had "borrowed garters and had them connected. He came downstairs brimming with confidence and a devilish smile that was just a bit too wide.

The smile didn't promise violence to his crewmates, not even slightly. No, what it showcased was a man that was eager for someone to f&~& around and find out. It was an outfit that practically called for someone to pick a fight with him. Mateo knew the rules; he couldn't murder someone for no reason. If they picked a rough fight, he would give it happily.

He would step up to the table, putting a leg up on the table and showcasing the hairless yet fantastically sculpted leg for all to see. He looked over his comrades for a moment as he grabbed a piece of cheese and bit down eagerly into the savory meal.

"Mmm, good choices. I feel far less hot...well...no. I feel like I'm not burning up as much." He said with a wink, throwing back a drink before nodding to the others before he shouldered his backpack. "C'mon, lets meet with Lanni."

The dangerous man leaned against the tavern wall, quietly humming songs as Lanni led his strange seance. There was an air of violence and blood in the air, one that called him towards savagery.

"Disgust you? And they're not dead?" Mateo asked with actual shock, a sly grin coming to his face as he thought it over. "Was that the decision to be made? The chance to ruin them and kill them but it meant killing me too? Or did you realize being with me gave you the chance to watch it all fall to pieces...if it did?" The question was at her but it was more for himself, his head shaking as he lifted his hand upwards. "Don't answer that, I want the surprise to last." He lifted his arm and threw off more of the mud from his body. With a disappointed glance, he looked downwards at himself. "Could you do me a favor love? I need your skill with a blade real quick."

At Rickety's, a young wench would drop her plates as Mateo walked in wearing his scabbard, weapons, and his hat and nothing else. He walked with a sense of pride in his steps as he made his way to the stairway, mud-covered butt in all its glory. Turning to whoever was in charge of baths, he would give a nod. "I require bathwater please. Thank you. Oh, a tip if you could grab a fresh change of clothing from the market. Something that suits me. Much thanks." The man would tip his hat to his shipmates and make his way towards his shared room.

"Joran! We don't need to beat the man's head in! This is just-" His words get caught in his throat as Penderghast pulls away and takes out a rushly made, poorly put-together, blunderbuss and raises it towards them. The gunslinger's eyes widen as the weapons bursts like thunder, erupting and ripping apart on its owner.

Reflex Save: 1d20 + 14 ⇒ (18) + 14 = 32

Dario wraps his worn, beaten long coat around himself, his armor and quick-thinking taking most of the damage. When he lets it fall though, the intimidating but still civil look in his eyes had fled and instead there laid a cool and vicious glare in those grey-blue eyes. His pistol twirls in his grip as he anxiously rolls his blade in his opposite palm.

"Right then. Shoddy craftsmanship for a shoddy man. Nevermind what I said Joran, you've got the right idea." Dario says to the big man, his eyes unwavering on Gerhard. "Thanks for that, mister. Now I'm not going to feel bad about what I do next."

Vitals - HP: 64/74

"You would replace me with dogs? With dogs!?" Bjorn shouted with a mirthless laugh, fingers cracking as the talons of his bloodline emerged with deadly intent. His eyes turned towards Lief and Nico, watching them both run out. "Probably taking tactical positions. That's fair."

He moves in and around, moving pass the wounded caster with a sneer as he engaged the beast in the back. With his blade in his hand, he struck with a powerful swipe of his claws.

Claw: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19Damage: 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11

Nuruk reaches up and around his dear Willow, sheltering her from the gruesome sight. He had sentenced the man to death, the least he could do was ensure that someone watched it be dealt. With the grisly task done, he turned his attention towards her.

"We will gather them in their cocoons and make it known the fate of their master. Then they will be freed to return home. Their shame will be their punishment and the knowledge of his fate will keep them in line." Nuruk offered, giving the gentlest smile he could as he turned his attention back towards the glittering druid off besides them. He cradles the sickly sapling like a newborn, though it was wondrous to watch it slowly come back to life in his hands.

"My love, the beast was mad. It couldn't truly fight properly. What we fought was a ghost of itself, a beast to be put down. It was not satisfying." Mateo said with a faint sigh, shaking his head. The heat of the jungle and the intense drought had driven her mad. Some called it getting your brain boiled. He heard the tales of it happening to sailors marooned on the sandbars for too long. When she asked about Atia though, he'd give her a nudge and a little devious grin.

"You scandalous wench. Of course I'll tell you every detail." And so, as the group went on, Mateo whispered sweet nothings explaining the way that the maddened naga had ripped into the woman's flesh, chewing on her like tough meat, and how Joran dug his claws into the mess of flesh and muscle to tear her spine apart like the apex predator he was becoming.

When there was mention that there may be a venture into the jungle, Mateo gave a shrug and a grin. "Better then sitting here and getting drunk, I suppose. Can't be worst than Bonewrack Isle, yeah?"

"All over me." Dario had said in response, grinning wide. "Mama and Papa didn't approve but you have to take advantages where you can." Dario said with a little chuckle. She asked for his help and when he looked up at her and into those dimly shining eyes, he would stare for just a second or two longer than necessary. By the gods, those were pretty eyes.

"What?" He said, clearing his throat and snapping his thoughts back onto the matters at hand. "Certainly, I keep a bit of thread and a needle in my back. When you travel so much, you need to keep things maintained. I'll help you if you want it. Now, onto flicking your pistol..."

Dario was patient in his teaching; his compliments were few and far between but earnest when he gave them. His instructions were slow and clear, able to be taught in a variety of ways. It was the dwarf in him showing through clearly as he took her through it motion by motion. When she did it in perfect execution, his face lit up into a wide smile.

"That's how you do it. Well done, miss." He had not expected the hug suddenly, suddenly wrapped up in the woman's impulsive hug. It was almost comical; his 5'4 stature was immediately enveloped by the larger aasimar woman as she squeezed him. He didn't fight it though, a small hand moving out around her to pat her softly on the back.

"W-well, you're welcome. Don't mention it." Dario mumbled, his face red from more than just the heat. There was no convenient farmer nearby to fight right then and he sure as hell wasn't going to kick Oren in the groin to start a fight. He liked living.

"A-a big beast you say?" Dario said, catching the bit of conversation about some giant monstrosity being in the territory. It was a good enough place to pivot away to as any other.

"Thanks Renali. Last thing I want to deal with is more things that want to eat me." Dario muttered, rolling his shoulders a little before looking towards their resident druid. "You know, I think I'm starting to get a good idea of this jungle now. I'll help where I can."

The player remembered that he had Survival trained and is actually fairly decent at it.

Survival (Aid Lisi DC 20): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (20) + 10 = 30

It seemed that the gunslinger, despite his constant grumbling about how he never felt like he wasn't constantly wet, did seem to get the hang of things. The lessons that Lisi was giving were being taken in stride and the young man helped track down a better place to rest than usual. As they travelled, he saddled up beside the tall angelkin and pulled out his pistol and nodded for her to do the same.

"Alright, you want to know the trick? It is keeping the paper catridges on hand. You have them secured on your person but...secured is slow." All over his body were his ammunition packets, ready to be grabbed and used at a moments notice. "Now, it is all about maintaining the momentum to reload. Snap it with me. Follow my arm." The gunslinger, with the woman's consent, would put his arms on her and guide her through the motion before letting her feel him at motion. It was a strange exercise, the sound of pistols constantly reloading as they walked through the jungle together.

Nuruk's eyebrow rose slightly as he looked at the harengon, his comrades speaking up quickly at first. He turned towards him, an almost sad look coming across his face.

"We spared you once, Adgon Longscarf, because we wished to be kind. All your bandits, your followers within the stump, alive and well. As I learned from the Summer Courts, one must be graceful with life and they must cherish it..." His demeanor darkened as his fingers gripped tighter upon his shoulder, Nuruk's voice speaking lower. ...but do not mistake my kindness for weakness. Summer is not just flowers. It is firestorms, droughts, and consumption. You had your chance and you played your card. Now play it out."

He gives the bandit leader a small shove, watching Willow bring him over towards the dragon. The accord was made and Ixjharatar would be sated. In time, he would hunt the dragon down and eliminate him. For now though, there were greater evils to conquer.

When she returned to him, Nuruk would hear her words and scoffed quickly, shrugging. "Who gives a damn ab-" Before he spoke more out of turn, he bit hard on the inside of her mouth, a low rumble echoing in his throat. Only when the urge passed did he speak again. "They are defeated. They may return home with their lives. If they are caught again, they will be not shown mercy a second time."

Indeed, this is just raw numbers at the moment. The situation can only get better for us financially. Right Fern? Only better right? Right? Yeah? Right?

...Right? <3

You can have it then! I've looked into it some and I have the feeling we're going to be soon leaving the parts where poison is super effective is all. Fort saves go up real quick. Feel free to take them so you have something a little more snazzy to stab with.

-gains a thousand year stare of writing out all of Mateo's parries and ripostes-

~~~First Things First~~~

The next morning, Mateo would finally emerge from the bedroom that Syl and him had been sharing. Covered in cuts, wearing nothing but cloth pants and the sleeves of his shirt that remained, he would have his head lifted high and a bright smile on his face despite the bruising along his skin. Crew would stare at him as he made his way down to the common room as if nothing was wrong.

"Morning, folks." Mateo offered his comrades, saddling up to the bar. "Do you all have coffee? It'd be a godsend right now." No explanation was given nor were there any truly needed as he drank coffee or whatever alcohol they had that had the same bite to it. Once finished, he would rise up, adjust his pants, and stride off out of Rickety's and to the market. Only a bit later would he return with a few changes of simple clothing, some for himself and some for the woman that still remained up at the room. The door would open, Mateo would enter, and the door would then close again.

~~~Later That Morning~~~

Mateo would come down in clean, simple clothing with his weapons back on and his armor decorating his form. It was just in time to join Lanni's seance, a strange little activity that helped so much. When it was done, he could almost feel the presence of something watching over him carefully as he finished off his breakfast.

"Thank you for...what you do, Lanni." Mateo said with a smile, wincing only a little bit in pain as he sat back. "I'll peruse the markets, see if there is anything fun to get us." It was around then that Syl descended from her room as well, Mateo's eyes flashing up over to her. His smile softened as he stood up, offering her his chair with a curtsey.

"I'll be out mingling. Come join me if you'd like. Don't stab anyone we know. Graze the newcomers." He would whisper into her ear before spinning on his heels and making his way into the almost unbearably bright day before him.

~~~In The Market~~~

Things had not been completely separated and sold yet amidst their looting of Bonewrack Isle and the bodies of those who would subjugate them, leaving Mateo quite poor indeed. It was alright though, it seemed unlikely that the people of this place would suddenly change their stock without any real notice. So as he perused and looked over fruits and small trinkets, the man happily helped himself to the smaller things that were easy to fit in a palm or quickly make them vanish without being noticed.

Sleight of Hand: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (4) + 11 = 15

The market was quite dry of little things to nip, maybe an apple or two that disappeared but no real gifts for him comrades to enjoy from him. It seemed that he would have to spend his money on them when he had the chance. As he was walking though, he did hear one of the people there talking to a vendor about their upcoming journey upon the boat that was being squibbed. Curious, he moved close enough only to pick up on a fact that she seemed proud of.

"I'm sorry to interrupt..." Mateo said, stepping in closer to regard her for a moment with a raised eyebrow. "...but you just say you're one fourth Tabaxi?"

The rest of that afternoon, unless they were interrupted, Mateo and Syl would disappear into the rented room together. For the keenly eared, the sounds of swordplay would be heard later before silence finally took over. Any curious to dare open the door would be deterred by a dagger sailing into the doorframe.

"He was trying to help, my dragon. If it causes problems, he'll help us solve them. Right Terry?" Mateo said softly from behind, stepping up with all the casualness that he could muster. "Context clues aren't his forte but he is still useful. Let him go..." Mateo would take a step closer, his hand not grabbing her by the wrist but instead settling onto her wrist softly.

Diplomacy (Assist Other): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25

The Man's Promise sailed smoothly into the estuary, ready to be pulled up onto the dry dock there to be remade anew. Mateo grabbed his things and departed down the gangplank with the others, glad to be on solid ground again with less hostile intentions around him. The place was rundown and baked in the sun but after the desolation that was Bonewrack Isle, it was a glowing metropolis of civilization to the swashbuckler.

"Well, hopefully the food and drinks tastes better than this place looks." Mateo mutters, albeit with a grin on his face. He adjusts his backpack again, the heavily loaded canvas shifting on his frame. "Find more crew, talk a few stories, maybe look for something nice. We have some nice things that we can pawn off or trade, perhaps."

"I'll see you all at the tavern in a bit. Going to peruse the little market up there." With a wave as he walked, Mateo would make his way through the shantytown and amidst the huts, hovels, and put together places to rest. A soft tune was whistled as he walked, nodding and smiling at those who'd meet his gaze.

In the marketplace itself, Mateo looked for beautiful jewelry, pretty rocks, interesting blades, and the more strange and mystical of items. He also happily helped himself to the fruits and vegetables being sold beneath the burning sun. As he did, conversation would naturally turn to where he came from and what had been going on. Naturally though, the saltier sailors would push back on the tales that the swashbuckler told. Grindylows, ghouls, and one grindylow the size of a shark? Ants shaped like kegs? Tall tales indeed. If Mateo didn't like one thing, he didn't like being called a liar (when he wasn't lying).

Intimidate (Assisting To Improve Infamy): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (14) + 10 = 24
That is a +2 from Mateo to assist then!

With the gruffer voices satisfied by the fierce tales that Mateo would tell, the less experienced but ambitious crowd would follow up with questions. Mateo happily would offer his blessings for any that wished it by they would need to speak to his captain first.

"You're going to want to look for Captain Lanni Talimbi. Blessed by the psychopomps, he speaks to spirits for guidance and they lead us to victory. I've heard their voices in my ears, guiding my blade and bringing us home safely. He is good-hearted, funny, and knows that he is just a man like you and I. Couldn't find a better captain even if you could dredge the dead up from the depths of the Shackles, friends." Mateo offered, shrouding the gnome in an air of mystery.

Diplomacy (Assist Lanni in Recruitment): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19
That boosts Lanni up to a 30 for recruitment.

"Yeah...but...it was a bright explosion of energy that popped real loud. I ain't have been in a jungle much but that isn't a sound I hear commonly. Let's just keep our guards up, alright?" Dario speaks up in regards to the totem being destroyed before he goes over and helps the two that had fallen over up. He brushes foliage off of them and gives the friendliest smile he could with his scarred face.

Communications seemed to be going off well enough for now so the short gunslinger backed off, returning to the outskirts of the clearing to keep an ear and eye out for dangers. The jungle canopy kept the foliage clear but with all the strangeness going on, it was better to be alert than be caught on one's back heel.

At Terry's comment, Mateo's face splits into a wide grin before he shakes his head fervently.

"Not at all. The only thing that's brought me close to death adores me now. I left a wall of grindylow corpses, rattled the brains of ghouls, slaughtered an antkeg alone, and brutalized the enemy that stood against us on the deck. If anything, I've learned that I'm a whirlwind of death, blood, and violence and am a g@!&&$n catch to any crew that has me." The swashbuckler says with appropriate smugness before he gestures to the crew.

"What has changed is I am an officer now! This crew, this ship, is mine...to care for! I will not have anyone die so simply like the whore who flanked you or that rat-faced halfling who first died on my blade. Before, I cared only for my well-being and that of my friend, Lanni. Now, I care for you all." The words were sincere if blunt, as he looks at the crew. "We could use...fighting sticks...I suppose. I will hurt you all though while we train. Better a hard stick than a sharp blade though, eh?"

Returning from the shipwreck, Mateo would pull with him the only things of value that he could consider outside of what they found; the two dead eels. He would have the others help him hoist them onto the deck before whistling for Kroop to come up to the deck.

"I have no idea what you could make with this but I feel that a successful mutiny should be rewarded with something fresh and delicious. Doable, good man?" He asks the occasionally sober and stained-shirt cook with a grin before leaving them in Kroop's capable(?) hands.

He moves with the others, grabbing the hate off of Lanni's head and placing it back upon his crown where it belongs. He gives the little gnome and smirking grin, an eyebrow raising for a few moments after Syl presents her threats to their captain. The smile disappears as he steps closer, his voice low and serious.

"My sweet dragon...don't you ever...ever flirt with another man or woman the way you do with me? Am I understood?" Whether the comment was made in jest or seriousness would be impossible to tell before he leaned in quick and stole a kiss from the killer before him.

Later that evening, Mateo is absent for most of the conversation, instead working beside them as they try to make due with such a small crew. Giffer pulls that back into the workforce but not before he finally speaks up again.

"She's right. I'll keep you safe, my little friend. You're one of the good ones. Anyone tries to throw you off, I'll kill them myself." He mutters as he secures a rope, looking at the crew for a moment. "Though, I'd have to kill Joran and Terry in their sleep. The latter is flighty and moves about the rigging like Mwangi ape. Joran literally grows claws when he is angry and tears flesh apart. No reason to fight those fairly at all." His train of thought ends though, the smile returning to his face. "Thankfully, we're good friends bonded by violence and trauma. No need to worry about that."

Soon enough, the work for the day was done and Mateo eagerly settled against the railing to drink from his waterskin. Sweat was finally beginning to ebb and the cool, ocean breeze was a gift.

We are but a herd of cats, slowly murdering our way through Golarion while having touching, wholesome roleplays. <3

Sounds good to me! I just wanted to get a post up so I'm not being too quiet <3

"I got into a fight with an angry tree. Fought better than you'd imagine." Dario said with a little smirk on his face before letting Yasamina look over his wounds. He winced and grumped a little as stingers were removed and calming ointments were placed, but he eventually was feeling much better after the skilled woman's treatment. "Thank you, I feel as right as rain." The sarcasm was strong in his voice but his thanks was earnest. Beaten up, bandaged, but far more moveable now.

That leaves Dario missing just a single hitpoint. I am sure that won't be an issue. Right DM Fern? :P

Dario leaves the discussion about the totem to the those skilled in spellcraft. He had been studying from Caiten about magical items and their properties but he still didn't feel confident trying to be an expert on it. He would offer the engineering side of things though, explaining the delicate balance that was made so that the raft could carry them across, be moveable, and still float.

That night, he slept away the last of the damage and in the morning, felt far more refreshed and able. The burns from the leshy's acid was barely there, the sharp leaf blades having healed almost completely. Gathering his supplies, he would coordinate who went where on the raft before they began the trek across the river.

They made their way along the paths that the elves had given them, moving towards where the Elephant People supposedly were. Yet when the smell of smoke hit his nose, Dario's pace immediately picked up. He knew the smell of burnt supplies and burnt bodies, too many patrols to find bodies lingering in the sands.

Dario draws his blade and pistol as he approaches the burnt village, his eyes flickering around the site. It was a favorite tactic of ogres to ambush a caravan and leave survivors to entrap rescuers. It was a cruel tactic and one that was all too often successful.

Perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (5) + 11 = 16

"Stay alert. Trouble could still be lurking nearby." Dario whispered to his companions, watching their flanks and the canopies of the jungle for their possible assailants.