Maraxus Keld's page

Yeah, I think I'm gonna drop too. Thanks GM for a good run!

Maraxus staggers under the slashing claws and biting cold he is nearly dead.

He manages to fumble a healing potion from his belt, but lacked the strength to drink it.

0 hp, disabled . Used a move to draw a potion that I won't get a chance to drink next round.

take 3

Cursing at the painful scratches, Maraxus steps back to make room for a mighty swing of his hammer.

"Die again, bony one!"

Attack: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (6) + 5 = 11
Damage: 1d12 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12

Sigh, TPK pt. 2 incoming! :)

Twas the cold skeletons that started the collapse last time too

Cursing at the damage they already caused, Maraxus again lashes out at blue with his hammer.

Attack: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7
Damage: 1d12 + 6 ⇒ (9) + 6 = 15

Seriously? Why does this table in particular hate me so?

Maraxus hefts his hammer and being it to bear on blue deftly avoiding Mustafa with experience of long practice with the long handled weapon.

Attack, blue: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
Damage: 1d12 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 6 = 11

Can't buy a good roll on this table

Maraxus shifts his hammer from casually laying across his shoulders to gripped and ready in his fists.

He looks around for whatever might be watching them, noting the disappearing tracks are seldom a good sign.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 3 = 21

"After my swim yesterday, I am ready for a warm up. Bring on the skeletons"

Maraxus growls as he grips his hammer and looks about, getting excited to find something to smash.

Relieved to be dry and reasonably warm, though he would have pressed on if necessary, Maraxus edges his way across the bridge.

Seeing the paladin pounce on the buried gear he cringed, expecting the trap he surely would have placed if he was the enemy.

He scans the area, hammer ready for any ambush that might be sprung.

wool and some firs still insulate wet. Important thing to know when you hunt the Alaska tundra at 35 below. "Cotton kills" was a common phrase out there. I didn't figure it would work anyhow, couldn't hurt to ask

Maraxus' solid five minutes of cursing while he dragged himself from the water was only interrupted by bouts of chattering teeth.

Regaining the bank and slowly recovering his wits and body control he changes to a low muttering to himself.

"This is a test? It has to be? Why not glorious combat? It is punishment for getting dazzled, it has to be."

GM I forgot I'm wearing cold weather clothes, does it perhaps give me a bonus to my fort Roll? Hopefully enough?

Maraxus curses as the wind blows the bridge and his feet slip, heavy armor and gravity doing the work of pulling him over the side.

"OH Ffffffff"

Fort: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9

Reflex: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (9) + 1 = 10

Maraxus follows the paladin at half speed across the wildly swaying bridge, slipping on the icy slats.

Maraxus chuckles at Thorn's attempt at a joke as he looks at the bridge.

"Bridge clumping us up, high cliff, this seems to be a perfect place for an ambush, assuming the enemy has more flying creatures. Or perhaps the necromancer could have zombies waiting at the other end. Keep weapons ready and eyes sharp."

Maraxus is quiet as the group returns and reports in, simply observing as he had little to add that the keen eyed elf and hunter didn't offer.

The following morning finds him waiting with the rest of the group.

"I am compelled to see this through, though only Gorum knows why he sent me."

With that he takes his place towards the front of the group, hammer resting on his armored shoulder, eyes roving, tunelessly whistling a soft marching song as he goes.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

I'm heading back

Maraxus ignores the annoying dwarf, though a short daydream of smashing in his skull does flash past his eyes.

"Our, and your" with a nod to the elven archer, "Primary task was to secure this lady and return her safely. With at least one of those ambushing fae still alive, I recommend we remain together in force and complete the primary objective. Then we can be determine our next move."

Good call, Nox had our CLW wand and Ulric had a masterwork cold iron longsword.

Maraxus relaxes only a bit as the grounds are secured.

"Now we know we won't be ambushed from this building. Even so, I will keep watch while you perform services on your fallen companions. This is still hostile country. When we finish I suggest we take the Lady back to town, then proceed on tomorrow to solve this mystery."

Looking at the rest of the group he looks for another with a mind for security, "If another would assist me in security, we would be doubly effective. Striking while we are distracted seems to be a common tactic from our foes."

Looking at the foul mouthed dwarf, Maraxus ponders.

Back talking to the principal, calling battle mates cowards with no foundation, from someone who won't carry a proper blade no less. I will be surprised if this one survives this expidition

To the group. "Enough with the bickering. If you cannot work within this group, leave. We cannot have discord in battle, liabilities such as that endanger not only our success, but our very lives."

With a long, slow, look at the dead adventurers, "Possibly even our souls."

"If you two are done with the pissing match, we have work to do."

Maraxus grumbles and he heads out of the house.

I wonder if the dwarf sees the irony of a mage calling an archer a coward for hanging back in battle. Bah, he's a dwarf, he probably doesn't even know what irony is

"Would they? Ylosanis recountment had this necromancer attacking from behind, a devious move. I would not put it past such a man to leave traps for the unwary. Zombies and skeletons can sit still under any of this snow until we blunder by. Secure your location before you worry about non vital matters. That is rule 1."

Looking about the group, "Would anyone like to assist me in securing the outbuildings and grounds before we deal with these bodies?"

With any takers he will move to inspect the stables, still on guard.

After searching the house and hearing plans of a funeral pyre, Maraxus speaks up.

"There were several outbuildings we should search. There is still a necromancer and numerous zombies unaccounted for. Do not let your guard down."

Gorum's bloody fist, worrying about burials in a possibly still active battlefield, now I've seen everything

Note, there is an upstairs as well.

Seeing there are no immediate threats downstairs, Maraxus assists the gnome in searching the main floor of the cabin.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18

Maraxus grips his blade and scans the room while others help the mysterious lady.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

Maraxus edges to the trapdoor, blade high.

"Go ahead, open er up."

Maraxus sticks near Eladorn as he explores behind the fireplace.

"Looks like a second floor, probably a basement and outbuildings to search. This might get tricky"

He growls, looking around and gripping his greatsword tightly.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

"Well, lets see what is in this room" Maraxus rumbles as he boots the nearest door open and peers inside.

Maraxus stomps in the room, blade held ready, looking around for trouble.

"Well, what now. Room to room search?"

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19

Are the corpses of the bandits/zombies around?

Taking Newmarks clue, "Might as well get this show on the road" Maraxus stomps to the door and asks, "You said this was stuck before?" he asks as he attempts to force the door open.

Cast Divine Favor 1 minute, +2 attack/dam from trait

Smash door: 1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 4 + 2 = 19
Damage: 2d6 + 6 + 2 ⇒ (3, 1) + 6 + 2 = 12

Glancing at the obvious posing of the bodies, Maraxus growls.

"That's not creepy at all. Necromancers! Bah, never can have a straight up fight with the likes of them."

He grips his greatsword tightly and keeps a blessing on the top of his mind.

"Well, we found the old group, what are the chances that noble woman is still here, alive. If she ever was."

"Zombies you said, right?" Maraxus mutters and he slings his hammer and draws his greatsword.

"Better make sure we don't have to lill them a third time."

Immediately prior to entry he'll cast Divine Favor

"What do you see?" Growls Maraxus as the elf halts. He casually swings his hammer from his shoulder to a more ready position.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

I guess maybe he should open his eyes

Groggily regaining consciousness and shaking the after effects off, Maraxus sits up in the snow, shaking his head.

"Gah! What in the hells hit me?" looking around and mentally checking himself for injury.

"Did we win?"

"ZZZZZzzzzZzzzzZzzZZZZ"

Tyrael? Its been almost 2 weeks since a posting

I'm funning.

I enjoyed the quadruple colorspray.

I should get a pack of trained fey for juat that purpose.

Lol, awesome! Might need to start rolling up character 3... :)

"Gah! We are beset!" Maraxus growls as an arrow speeds into their midst. Spotting a small ... thing... nearby, he stomps over to it and swings his polehammer at the small thing.

Attack: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
Damage: 1d12 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16

I've found the Rule of Two to be a good approach; when two PCs agree on a strategy in the Gameplay thread, the GM moves the action forward. This allows the party to move forward without having to define a formal leader.

In this case, I think there's a great story element in Ylosani assuming the mantle of leadership (only survivor of the previous slaughter), so I think it's great to take that approach here. (Maybe fall back on Rule of Two if Ylosani is absent or posting slow.)

I agree

Maraxus smiles behind his visor as the group debates directions and devolves into bickering.

Figuring out which way to go is not his concern, smashing the foes at the end is. He doubted the woodsman would let them get lost so he was not worried.

He idly starts whistling a marching song as he waits, pole hammer resting comfortably across his broad armored shoulders.

Yeah, Ill sit here and judge! You can't see me make faces behind my helmet, nyah nyah

10-4 good buddy!

Or however that goes.

When I did delivery driving truckers always annoyed me what with their sitting in their cabs reading or texting while the millworkers unloaded the semis while I had to haul my heavy machine parts by hand up the steps (cause the semis were parked in the only functional loading bays).

Did I say annoyed? I meant jealous;P

Know Religion: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21

As they travel Maraxus speaks up in his gruff, terse, tone.

"You said zombies and skeletons? Swords and axes for the zombies, hammers for the skeletons. Necromamcer? Anything will do. I prefer this beauty myself."

He finishes with a caress along the haft of his polehammer.

Maraxus grunts at the elf's story.

"So we have a necromancer and a house full of zombies" presumably your former companions "as known enemies, and still we will need to locate the cause of this unnatural cold."

He ticks points off on his gauntleted fingers as he goes, then finally adding "oh, and find the kidnapped noble lady."

Letting out his breath in a puff of steam he grunts, "Gorum's bloody fist we have some work ahead. Well, off to it then." he finishes with the nonchalance to danger of a seasoned mercenary.

If it was his time to die, he would, else he would fight and win, the fortunes of war were what they were.

Maraxus wakes early, as is his custom, and prepares his spells, oils his weapons and armor and heads towards the path.

He casually strolls as he sees his new battle mates making their way to where the elven archer is waiting.

He is fully kitted, bascinet on, aventail tucked into his armor and arranged under his heavy cloak and pack, long haft of his hammer resting on one shoulder.

A simple grunt and head nod of greeting indicates he is ready to travel.

This still seems foolish to just blindly wander into combat without even a hint of discussion about pay. Why do the gods have to be so mysterious all the time?

If you are from out of town, the unnatural cold is probably what drew you. I would think.

So fuzzy underbritches would make perfect sense.

Maraxus watches without emotion as a bedraggled elf storms into the tavern and yells on and on about danger or something, he was quite agitated and Maraxus had been busy taking a massive pull from his tankard.

No matter, not my business and nobody has hired me for dangerous work yet

He raises an eyebrow in interest as not one but two representatives of the gods immediately offer their services.

"Goody two shoes, not even asking what their help is worth, such foolishness is beneath... " he starts mumbling to himself, but stops mid sentence as he feels the pull . An odd tension in his stomach that the uninitiated may write off as a stray emotion or twinge of anxiety but he knew... he knew that was the call of his god, the call to battle.

Really? This fool's errand?

Yet the pull was still there so, cursing softly to himself, he raises his voice.

"Gorum can't miss a fight like this", with a sigh "my hammer is ready to assist you."

Good thing I packed my warm pants

I don't want to deal with Ulric's name still being on the character, so I just went ahead and made a new PFS character, RIP Ulric

Sitting alone in a corner in the quiet tavern in Heldren, Maraxus watches the goings on in the sleepy little town. He was between campaigns and without prospective employment for the moment. Receiving word that there was strange weather happening in this small corner of the world, and being close by after his last work for the church of Gorum, he wandered in to see for himself what was happening, and pondering offering his services to the town to deal with the unnatural occurrences.

Observers of the man would have little difficulty determining his status and profession. His coat of plates was simply adorned with the symbol of Gorum, the plates worn and oft repaired, the chain dented and the leather backing shiny from hard use. Spikes adorn the gauntlets and bracers, sharp but well worn.

A dented bascinet sits on the table next to his mug, like his armor, it is unadorned and undecorated, a simple armor for a simple man.

Above the armor, the man's face is much like his armor, used, battered, scarred and unattractive. A clean shaven face shows scars from both brawls and battles, intense brown eyes watching the room cooly. His hair, already going prematurely grey is cut short and uneven, as if simply chopped with a dagger for field expediency.

Much like the armor and the man, the greatsword and dagger belted to the man's waist are well worn and simple, as is the pole hammer casually leaned against the wall.

The man is what he is, a simple priest of the god of War. Born to battle, seeking nothing further than to fight and strive for victory.

His past is a simple one, so common for warriors for hire across all of Golarion. A simple farm boy, bored with the simple life of an honest farmer, running off to join the exotic and exciting life of a travelling mercenary, only to find less excitement, and even more boredom than farm chores and chasing cattle.

Yet, the god of War called, and he followed.