Lord Bramwell's page

Hey guys,

Sorry for the long absence (once again). Thing is, between an increased workload at my job recently and a newborn at home, I haven't been able to keep up with the games, and even if it doesn't eat up that much into the day, I've been wanting to use my spare time to be with my wife and my boy, which I'm sure you can understand. But since I'm kind of a stickler for commitments, the notion that I'm holding up gameplay keeps nagging at me, so I'd rather step down at once to have some peace of mind and let you all enjoy the adventure. I've been playing on the boards regularly for over 5 years, and I know that games can take a hit when someone leaves, but it is not a decision I take lighly. I wish you all a fun and lasting campaign and I thank you for your understanding!

Cheers and game on!

"Not well indeed," the lord agrees while hunching over the pit and staring into it. "There is something down there. Something that glows." Bramwell shuts his eyelids and whispers something uninteligible, a sound that resembles a hissing reptile. His eyes gleam red as he grabs the metal grating covering the pit and tries to pull it out to clear the path to the bottom.

Casting guidance
Strength check: 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 3 + 1 = 20

The Save DC is impossible.

Babies and their +8 Cha modifier...!

"I am actually better now," Bramwell replies running his clawy hand around his neck. "The Lopper is no more. It has ceased to be. Shall we move on?," he asks, taking a look at the room they now find themselves in.

Perception - Looking for anything that stands out: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18

Congrats! Enjoy your grandchild!

Bramwell's eyes go wide as he wacthes the blade's trajectory towards his neck, but instead of a searing pain, the blow is followed by a surge of relief and well-being. The dhampir knows the sensation well: negative energy, he immediately tells himself. His mouth curls up into a disturbing grin as the lord realizes he is impervious to the Lopper's attacks. A moment of hesitation hangs between the two of them, and Bramwell speaks up, panting, "So, you are helpless against me. I see it, yes; it is fear you feel now, like your victims did. Fear of being at someone else's mercy." He dashes forward and attacks again, screaming viciously. "I have none to spare for you!"

Once more, Bramwell escapes the Lopper's chop, but not really thanks to his own nimbleness. The ghost strikes erratically; passionately, almost. It is disturbed by me having his weapon, is the nobleman's conclusion. Taking advantage of the Lopper's reckless attacks, Bramwell finds an opening and aims his strike right in the middle of the ghost's ethereal chest.

Bramwell ducks to avoid the Lopper's clumsy swing, but finds fimself off-balance in doing so, taking a sidestep to regain his footing. As a result, the dhampir's own riposte is feeble, and likely a miss, Bramwell assumes, although his target's intangibility makes it difficult to determine the accuracy of the strikes against it.

Bramwell reachs into his sack and stuffs his hand inside, reaching for the cursed handaxe. "Ah, yes, yes. It would seem the time has come for the Lopper to be reunited with his blade, and hopefully separated from his own body, yes?" Gripping the weapon tightly with both hands, the nobleman feels the chill of the Lopper's essence burning his fingers as he raises his trembling arms in preparation to strike down the vile murderer.

Bramwell advances calmly past his comrades, more intrigued than anything else. He stands close to Khardan and, staring into the pit, sees the pale creatures's maniac grin. "Another haunt, I wonder? Were it a dead prisoner, it would be nothing but bones left. Or maybe it is yet something else."

Knowledge (religion) - What are we looking at?: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

Just finished advancing to level 3. Picked Power Attack, and gained access do 2nd level spells. The rest is just number crunching. ;)

Guys, I have been absent because my wife was in the end of her pregnancy and our baby boy was born last Wednesday. We're absolutely thrilled and everything is fine, but you can imagine that time has been scarce. Time and sleep. Yes.

Anyway, please bot me as necessary and I'll resume posting as soon as our new routine allows. :)

Pallberarers

"The catacombs, yes. They should be safe. Even though I think the men who desecrated the Professor's corpse can still repeat the deed, the sanctuary of the Lady of the Graves shall discourage them a bit. I imagine Pharasma does not look kindly to any who disrespect her grounds, and even a necromancer or undead monster can evade her judgement for only so long." The nobleman steps forward and looks at Father Grimburrow. "There is one more thing, yes? It is safer that no one knows the Professor is here. The less people know about it, the less are the chances of anything else happening to him, and the more our odds of finding out who led our enemies to his resting place should anything undesired come to pass." He glances at Jayla and then speaks hushedly to Khardan. "You've known her longer. Can she be trusted in her current state? She's been touched by them, too."

Bramwell remains indifferent to the rucus behind him, immersed deep in his thought and at the sight of the profaned corpse in his arms. He looks back over his shoulder just to see Kendra backing away, and then sighs. Standing outside the house, in the cold of the wee hours, he speaks softly to Khardan, his anger seemingly placated. "I don't like the idea of burying the professor back in his grave. He would be safer under the care of the Pharasmin church. He deserves the honor of a consacrated crypt that is under vigilante and protection, lest him rise again like this monstrosity." He turns his gleaming red eyes to the half-orc. "We must do it with utmost secrecy. The Whispering Way cannot know about his true resting place."

Just to let eveyone know that everything's alright, Bramwell is only angry in character. I'm cool. :)

Bramwell takes the Professor's hanging head and holds it gently in place, taking the body in his arms like a sad animal that cannot understand its progeny is dead. He ignores Imperia's gesture and carries Lorrimor to the amrchair the dhampir has claimed as his since the first night in the house. Every movement is delicate and silent. The pitch-dark night outside calls out to Bramwell, and he answers by opening the window and staring in the distance. The cold wind of the small hours fill his nostrils, and after a deep breath he makes public his discontent.

"Simpletons", he vosciferates, "will always bank on violence, yes. One night in a monster's skin, and you see it, Professor. Imagine a whole life." He turns around to take a second look at the inanimate zombie lying on the chair, and then glances at Khardan, squinting. "At least, it is not completely destroyed. The body, yes? We must keep it safe." He throws Imperia the same icy gaze. "Even if none of us have the power to save him... yet."

While keeping a tight hold of the zombie, Bramwell turns his bloody stare to Imperia, his eyes burning with ire. "Do you not know, librarian," he starts, forcing his social status and forgetting his forsaken title holds little to no sway anymore, "that Lorrimor was more to me than a mere colleague at some study hall?", the dhampir gnarls. "When others would have me destroyed and forgotten, he offered me friendship. I owe it to whatever is left of him to repay it. And I shall do my best to save his body and soul, as he has done for me." His voice carries a mixture of anger and sadness. Focused as he is on Imperia's defiance, Bramwell is completely taken aback by Khardan's sudden strike. "No!"

[dice=CMB check to give Lorrimor the pinned condition (with a +5 circumstance bonus because the Professor did not break the grapple)]1d20+3+5[/dice]

Bramwell turns the Professor around and uses the full force os his body to press the zombie against the sill of the door, trying to pin it. As the creature twitches and turns violently under the tight hold, Bramwell himself hisses and grunts disturbingly in response, and for a moment it becomes hard to determine which is the more bestial creature of the two. "Rope!", the lord demands.

Bramwell cannot bring himself to try and destroy the Professor, even in this malignant iteration. Once more, he attempts to immobilize the zombie without inflicting any harm. If we spare the body, perhaps we can bring the spirit back, he hopes. The attack opens Bramwell up to immediate retaliation, but the nobleman disregards the risk.

Grapple: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

Noticing the Professor's menacing disposition, Bramwell immediately drops the scythe and jumps at the zombified incarnation of his former friend. Something in the back of the nobleman's mind—and maybe of his heart, too—urges him to preserve the integrity of Lorrimor's body. Instead of trying to rip it apart, the dhampir instead attempts to grab and immobilize the creature at the door.

Grapple: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
Since Lorrimor is still flat-footed, the maneuver does not provoke AoO

Heeding Imperia's warning, Bramwell approaches the door with caution. "Hmm. I can think of only one person who has recently left his grave and would have any reason to come to this house. Perhaps it is the Professor on the other side of this door," he muses. Bramwell then stretches his arm and picks up ths scythe leaning against a nearby wall. "Then again, perhaps not."

Not used to physical intimacy, Bramwell is startled to have Imperia touch him. He cringes, initially from the contact itself, and then due to the discomfort caused by the librarian's spell–for though the surge of negative energy does heal his body, it is not without pain. The relief usually associated to curative magic comes only after the gash closes, absorbing and dissipating the negative forces channeled through his body. Only when he straightens up—at least for his own standards—does it become noticeable how much more hunched over he had been standing because of his injury. "I... yes, yes. I feel much better, Miss Imperia. Thank you," he says, nodding at her.

Outside Harrowstone, Bramwell cannot help but notice the dread silence all around them. It reminds him of his own home, the blighted Bramwell Estate, a withering land where barely a cricket dares make a noise. Could it be my presence?, he wonders, before shrugging off the thought. No. I have not been here long enough. "This silence is almost unnatural," he remarks as they make their way to Kendra's home.

Not sure if any of the following can help:
Perception to notice anything strange: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25
Knowledge (geography) or Knowledge (nature) to see if this could be a naturally occurring phenomenon in Ustalav): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23

While the group discusses Filiana's powers, Bramwell keeps to himself on a dark corner of the room. Removed from the party, he seems to blend with the shadows, and he does in fact seek its comfort to grieve his wounds. He can feel his face burning from the skeleton's claw, and cannot help but wonder if his visage looks even more disfigured than usual. The taste of blood on the back of his tongue indicates that his flesh has been torn all the way to the inside of the left cheek. Bramwell breathes deeply to master the pain, and once comfortable enough to face his allies, he steps out of the darkness, the wound still bleeding. A big stain of clotting blood covering the face, neck and shoulder contrasts with his pale complexion. Bramwell makes no mention of the injury.

"Yes, yes. We do not know what else we may face, and it would be reckless to sleep here with our forces depleted. Personally, I could go on a bit longer, I suppose, but perhaps even that would be pushing our luck. Let us hope these undead creatures we destroyed are gone for good. Our efforts seem to have lasted on the upper floors, at least."

With that, the dhampir starts heading back to the hole from which they descended.

Guys, sorry for the absence, I'm completely swamped at work and at home. I think things will get better later next week.

Bramwell's face contorts in pain and then anger after the skeleton's claws tear the flesh off his face. He takes a step forward, using the full thrust of his movement to try and slice the undead's spine and destroy it once and for all.

5-ft step to flank with Imperia
Melee Atk - scythe: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10
Damage: 2d4 + 4 ⇒ (1, 4) + 4 = 9

Bramwell steps forward diagonally to join Cawthorne and Imperia's efforts against the row of skeletons threatening them. Squeezing past the doctor, he takes position on the left of the group and attacks the undead in front of him.

5-foot step
Melee scythe: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
Melee scythe - confirm critical?: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7 nope
Damage: 2d4 + 4 ⇒ (1, 1) + 4 = 6

Bramwell's late arrival manages to spare him of the skeleton's attacks, but that only means that his companions take the heat instead. His initial instinct is to go help the small Filiana, but thinking again he notices how Imperia and Cawthorne ar far more outnumbered.
The little one is far more powerful than even she knows, he considers while going in the other direction. All shee needs is a trial by fire to gain some confidence, and perhaps a little aid from Khardan. He is still distracted thinking about Filiana's potential when the blade of his scyhte flies before his eyes aimlessly seeking a new target.

Move action
Melee Attack (scythe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
Damage: 2d4 + 4 ⇒ (4, 2) + 4 = 10

Bramwell lingers in the pool chamber perhaps longer than he should have, once more lost in thoughts while contemplating the area and the ectoplasmic remains that soil it. By the time he moves on to join his allies in the next room, a new menace has already arisen. Stepping through the passsageway, the dhampir lifts his scythe again, but this time his target is of solid bone rather than supernatural blob.

5-foot step to flank with Khardan
Standard Action: Melee attack (scythe): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22
Damage: 2d4 + 4 ⇒ (4, 1) + 4 = 9

Bramwell regains firm footing and lashes out again, his scythe rising from the pool and slicing the water as it goes up seeking its target.

Standard action: melee attack (scythe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Damage: 2d4 + 4 ⇒ (4, 2) + 4 = 10

Bramwell steps over the slimy puddle that was once his ghostly enemy and advances against the ectoplasmic creature engaged in combat with Cawthorne. The dhampir takes position next to the doctor and, once again, brings down the blade of the scythe on his opponent. Tragically, Bramwell miscalculates the depth of the water pool at this point of the room; a slight loss of balance throwss his attack off, and leaves the nobleman open to the monster's reaction.

Move action - walk up to the creature
Standard action: melee attack (scythe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
Damage: 2d4 + 4 ⇒ (2, 4) + 4 = 10

Bramwell hisses as he draws the scythe from his back, swinging it forwad so that both his hands can establish a firm grip. Moving with feline reflexes, he quickly wades out of the water pool and circles around the creature close to him, positioning himself to attack from behind.

Happy new year!

Distracted with his thoughts as the group discusses the procedure to reach the bottom of the hole, Bramwell takes some time to join in on the conversation. When he sees Khardan taking place to climb down, he walks up to Dr. Cawthorne and Imperia. "Hmm. You have this, yes? I shall lend a hand if anything goes wrong," he informs. It seems only fitting to the nobleman that the commoners do the heavy lifting—quite literally, in this particular case—while he oversees the action to make sure it all goes smoothly.

Keeping his attention at the rope, he answers Filiana's questions. "I, too, little one, can see in the deep darkness, and in fact, even blinded, I do maintain a fairly good perception of my surroundings. I suppose it's just a matter of physiology, but hopefully the doctor can offer a better explaination. It is not really the same as looking at something in actual light, no. There is not the same richness of hues and colors, only volumes, and it is harder to make out fine details—though still possible with a little effort. To me, it all becomes red tinted. Blood tinted."

Happy holidays, folks!

"Ah, we are not yet sure how deep the hole goes, or even if it will get us where we want. Worry not in advance, as it will not change neither what we know about the matter, nor what we can do about it," Bramwell advises a little to bluntly. He follows Imperia to the room and, upon arriving, starts inspecting the whole.

Perception (with darkvision 60 ft.): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13

Bramwell abandons his reflections and looks at Dr. Cawthorne. "Oh, there is a staircase, yes, but it has collapsed. It is completely obstructed." He stands up abruptly, almost turning the chair. "I fear Miss Imperia is right. That hole might be our only option. I would just like to check the corridor nextdoor first, to be sure we have checked the whole ground floor." The dhampir steps out of the ruined office and opens the door to the yet unexplored area by its side.

"Interesting. A guardian god, to protect the walls of Heaven from being torn down... by other gods, I suppose." Distracted by the theological discussion, the nobleman rests his hand on the documents spread over the desk and shuffles them absentmindedly, not really reading any of the words. He looks up and exhales strongly before speaking. "Baffling, is it not, that gods should take arms against each other? How mortal of them—or perhaps, how godly of us, to engage in that very same activity here, in our own realm. In the end, it all comes down to passions, no? I say."

He walks up to the window and looks out, staring at the grass, realizing how plant and wild life have already partially reclaimed the abandoned grounds of Harrowstone. "I find that even the gods' whims pale before the unwielding power of nature... the natural laws of existence itself, which not even the gods can escape from. Creation. Destruction. It does no one's bidding, it acts relentlessly without prejudice or intent." The dhampir sinks in the chair behind the desk, elbows pressed against the arms of the chair and pushing the tips of his left and right fingers against each other. "Such is nature."

Knowledge (religion): 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

Bramwell scracthes his chin. "Hmm. I'm not familiar with that symbol. I must admit I, too, find myself lacking when it comes to knowledge about the gods, individually speaking." He turns to Khardan. "I'd be curious to know more about this Golden Bulwark of yours. Maybe later, over some tea."

Lord Bramwell raises and shakes his hand, refusing the orange potion. "I am not fully restored to my health, no, but I believe a night's rest will do. No need to waste that on me. Let's save it, for now."

The nobleman then turns his attention to Filiana and observes with a mix of amusement and curiosity as the halfling struggles with the magic potions. When she is done talking, he approaches her to engourage her progress. "Very wel, little one. Even Miss Albus and Myself failed to identify that potion's magic properties, but from what you descibre, it is infused with the positive energy we spoke of but a moment ago. And it is a lot like you describe it, yes: it is a feeling, as much as it is a knowledge. We call it spellcraft, you see, the practical aspects of magic making, be it divine or arcane; it encompasses the understanding and use of magic's... ingredients, if you will: gestures, words of incantation, material components ranging from precious gems to crickets' legs." The dhampir makes a wide gesture as he speaks, as if trying to embrace the world. "It is how we learn to make magic, and by learning to do it, we learn how to recognize it." He crouches over the potions set on the table. "In the case of potions, it takes a good palate to notice the flavors and tones of the components used in the recipe, which for themselves can hint at the nature of a potion; but it also takes an accute sensibility to the subtle sensation that in the briefest of moments irradiates from your tongue to the rest of your body."

Bramwell leans forward in Filiana's direction and points his index finger at her face, almost touching her nose. "You are doing quite well for someone with no training. We must remedy that situation so that you can master the innate talent you seem to possess." He sniffs the top of her head. "Yes, yes. You have raw power in you."

Spellcraft (blue potions): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (9) + 5 = 14
Spellcraft (orange potions): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
Spellcraft (green potions): 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23

Bramwell takes a look at the potions and sips from each vial, grimacing as the liquid touches his lips. The dhampir fails to identify the first two samples, but recognizes the flavor and sting of the orange fluid. "This one removes illnesses and diseases," he says shaking the vial and then corking it up. He then picks up the papers and spreads them open on the desk, inviting the group to gather around them for a minute study of Harrowstone records.

Everyone, please add 100 GPs to your purses!

"Hmph. Locked, of course," Bramwell complains. He makes a feeble attempt at picking the old lock and then throws his arms in the air in frustration, giving room for other people to try.

Bramwell will cast guidance on anyone attempting to open the safe.

Bramwell searches the desk and tries to open the safe.

Perception to check the desk: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

"I believe there's one room left to explore, at the end of the corridor to the left of the entrance hall. If we cannot find another way down, we might have to remove by hand the debris that is blocking the staircase." Bramwell makes his way to the room in question and opens the door, hoping that this final exploration can save them of the hard, menial labor of unblocking the passage to the lower levels.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25

"Ah, but that is not really it, no," the dhampir protests. "'Healing' magic, 'good-aligned' magic, 'infernal' magic... these are religious notions, not natural ones." He turns around to face Imperia and Filiana, and then hunches over bringing his hideous visage within an inch of the halfling's nose.

"You see, in the beginning of all, even before the gods, there was the plane of positive energy. The force of creation, if you will. It existed in the center of everything, surrounded by the elemental planes of fire, water, earth, and air. Somehow, one day it touched these planes, using these elements as raw materials for the material plane--which explains why these are the four fundamental forces of nature. With the material world, came all things living in this plane we find ourselves in, and it grew out of control," Bramwell says ominously. He raises a finger and widens his eyes, grinning over sharing a revelation.

"But nature always finds balance! And so the plane of negative energy slowly came into existence to limitate the extent and strenght of this new world. With it came death and destruction, so that the cycle could be complete. Ever since, there have been creatures who can channel energy--or magic, as we call it--from either of these sources: the positive or negative plane. What you can do, little one, is no more than tap into that force, harness it. By its very nature, it will restore life to those to whom life is natural, or destroy it in those to whom it is unnatural. The opposite goes with negative energy."

He sighs. "Me, I was touched by the curse of undeath. While still mortal, a quality that brings me no small relief, my existence defies the order of creation, and this is the reason positive energy harms me, as it does to haunts and ghosts. You can face them simply by doing the same thing I did--just use your 'healing magic'"

Bramwell turns away and resumes his search. "Anyway, that is just common knowledge among druids. Passed down since the dawn of time, mouth to ear."

... that should be "adjacent" there on Bramwell's last line. ;)

Lord Bramwell keeps searching, his back still turned to his alies as he studies the room. It does not stop him from engaging in the conversation, though. "Indeed, little one: a haunt is somewhat like a ghost... only it is not always shaped as the deceased creature. There are those who cannot embrace death when it calls on them—sometimes ouf of fear of it, or anger, or because some other unnatural force anchors them to the world of the living. They come in many different types, these undead, and in the case of a haunt, it is often difficult to tell how it is going to look like. Usually, it has something to do with the way they died, which explains why many of the haunts in Harrowstone have something to do with the fire that destroyed the prison."

He stops talking, and it seems like he is done with the subject. Suddenly, he resumes the lecture. "I don't know much about it except for what both Professor Lorrimore and my mentor have brought up in our conversations over the years. The channeling of positive energy from the Creation's Forge can keep it at bay, but to really eliminate a haunt, one must understand what it is that keeps the spirit from crossing over to Pharasma's Boneyard, and act to remedy that. But it is hard to know what to do without knowing details about the life and death of a haunted spirit, yes?" The dhampir shakes his head in disapproval. "It is a shame, really, that the Pallid Princess has brought this curse to our world. Death is cleansing. Without it, everything would be withered and old like me, and there would be no room for the fresh and young like you", he says glancing over his shoulders to meet Filiana's eyes. "One who cannot die cannot truly live."

He remains silent again, and then reflects on Khardan's question. "There's and adacent room we have not yet explored, no?"

Lord Bramwell looks around the room to make sure the haunt is gone. "Yes, yes. From our experience, they are easier to deal with before they fully manifest," he explains to Filiana and Dr. Cawthorne. He then turns his attention to the room itself, searching for anything unusual.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21

"Certainly another haunt," Bramwell declares reaching for the brazier. His fingers touch the object just as he finishes casting a spell, and a blast of positive energy discharges out of his body and into the haunted brazier. Directed outwards, the surge does not really harm the dhampir, but stings enough to make him grimace in discomfort.

Given the size of the room, I assume the brazier is either within Bramwell's reach or can be reached with a 5-foot step.
Standard action: cure light wounds: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

"I can indeed", Bramwell replies. "Perhaps I should hold on to it, in fact," he continues, stuffing the wand in the inner pocket of his dark, ragged robes. He then reaches for the door close to him opens it slowly. "Now let us move on."

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22