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Merick shakes his head, looking up to the sky. "The boy is barely old enough to handle a blade. He will come inside with us, I'm afraid. He can help guard our prisoner while we talk to the man in charge." Merick tries to find a solution that will keep the dwarf happy but get the kid off the street.
Merick follows behind Peya, a look of consternation on his face at the devastation all around.
Merick approaches one of the remaining dragonmen, attempting to turn his luck around with a sideways slash at hip level.
Merick, seeing Tom being threatened by one of the dragon-men, will break off from the group rushing to safety, swinging his longsword in a downward diagonal at the creature.
As his companions attempt to question the dragon-men and continue to fight them, Merick walks up to the commoners they had been escorting, saying in a firm voice, "Come on! Let's get you to safety." He nods at the woman who had just saved those others. He would thank her later for her bravery, but right now the safety of these people was paramount.
Merick's brows furrow as he sees the desperate flight of the weak and injured, and the brave soul trying to ferry them to safety. "You shall not stand alone, brave warrior!" He yells fiercely, charging forth with longsword raised, swinging it down in a vicious arc.
Merick makes a decision and nods to the eldest of the group. "Come with us to the Town Hall or whatever passes for it here. We'll ensure you make it there safely." Assuming the townsfolk give them instructions on where to go, Merick will begin to lead the way, trusting in the folk and his new-found companions to follow.
Merick gets close to the pocket of villagers, then closes his eyes for a moment, opening himself up to the glory of Heironeous. He feels his god's energy infusing him, the tiniest sliver, and shivers in ecstasy for a moment as he becomes a conduit, holy energy expanding out in a burst from him.
He opens his eyes, smiling at the villagers. "Hopefully that took care of your most grievous wounds. Find a place to hide, or make haste away from here."
Merick continues moving, hoping they can save at least a few people from this wanton violence.
Merick will continue to advance, steeling himself for the work to be done. Both to the dragonmen and the injured and dead townsfolk.
Merick glances at Tom's strange device on his arm, then shrugs. If the man happened to be good in combat, then he would prove his claim. Merick starts to gently swing his sword in arcs around him, loosening up his sword arm as they draw near the little dragonmen.
He smiles grimly at the half-orc beside him, glad for the support. "Indeed. Let us hope it is enough shields."
Hurray!
It's showing up in my campaigns when I pull up this specific character, but it is pulling up as a 'previous' campaign. Maybe it's just my stuff. Gnick Gnak, I believe there a button to click at the top of the page to mark it as active/inactive. If you think everything's fine, I'll just remember to check from now on. :)
As the group gets closer, Merick will don his shield and unsheathe his longsword. Dispatching the threats on the ground took priority, no matter how much his heart cried out to help those lying in the streets. He proceeds to move double-time, angling to intercept a pocket of enemies. Hoping this group stays with him as he does so.
Merick pauses, noticing the group assembling behind him. He hurries back, his brow knitting together in consternation. He is not rushing forward to help fight the dragon. He suspects the dragon will be done long before they arrive. He is rushing forward to help prevent loss of life! "Let's go help tend the wounded and get people to relative safety." He says simply to the others.
Gnick Gnak, can you make the campaign active, so it shows up in my campaigns tab?
Merick stares in awe for a moment at the terrible majesty of the wheeling dragon as it flies through the sky. He shakes his head, his mind returning as he notes the fires and fleeing people. Knowing the foolishness of trying to run from this distance, he instead quickens his pace, determined to help the folk of this town. He might not slay the dragon, but he could perhaps prevent further injury or death.
Merick looks askance at Tom, furrowing his brow in confusion at the man's statement. What an odd sense of humor that one had. "I'm sure fortune will favor you soon enough, friend!" He bows slightly at the waist to the half-elf woman who had such pessimistic views of the gathering. He smiles at her, her appearance rather glum for such a beautiful day out. He wonders if her skin burns easily. While he ponders this, he is nudged by the passing Half-Orc woman, who scoffs at the mention of jousting. Aye, that one had the look of a wrestler. She'd likely whip all the woman and most of the men, for that matter. Still, manners are manners, and he bows to her politely as well, with a softly spoken, "My pardon, ma'am."
Merick looks to Tom, an amused smile on his face. In a kindly tone, he explains, "Heironeous calls many to His banners. Yes, He does count many knights among those, and of course priests like me. In addition there are the keepers of His lore, and those who work against His brother and nemesis Hextor in more...subtle ways." As to the second question, Merick shrugs. "Honestly good sir, I have no idea what to expect, beyond a celebration. I am sure we will find something to entertain us, no?" He grins at the man.
Merick strolls along the road, a smile on his lips. His anticipation of the fair has grown with each passing day, and he is soon to be there. All the gods of goodness had the priest's respect, but of course he would revere Heironeous above them all, as was proper and right. He rubs his thumb across his holy symbol absently, nodding and giving a polite "Hello." to any passersby.
Hello all!
Here's what I think is a final list, if it will be helpful: Martial: Kouran - Male Human Paladin
Divine: Horus Hightower - Male Human Dual-Cursed Oracle
Arcane: Dran Yslander - Male Elven Wizard
Skilled: Tom Gendry - Male Half-Elven Slayer
Submitting Merick the Blue, Human Cleric of Heironeous.
Just wanted to restate my interest, since my last post was a while back, and look forward to seeing who gets in! Best of luck everyone.
DM Papa.DRB, Just want to confirm that my character meets all your stated requirements. Also, wanted to confirm that I will be playing and writing in third person. LOL
Merick the Blue, Cleric of Iomedae, reporting for service. Everything should be answered on my profile, except for the Why and Skills. Why - A demon attempted to kill me several years ago. I narrowly survived, and have since dedicated myself to ridding the world of this menace. I believe I was chosen by Iomedae for this purpose. Skills I offer - Offer a decent face for the party, knowledge of the Planes and Nobility, and of course an excellent support healer and party enhancer.
Do we need to submit an updated character, or will you pick based on our current concepts?
I am up for some demon-slaying. Count me in.
He wasn't sure their goals would keep them together past the cathedral. If he didn't get himself up to a room it might not make it past tonight. With as much gravity as he can muster. "Agreed." He nods to himself, then glances at his companions as he gets to his feet, quite wobbly. "I think I should retire if we are to get an early shtart of it." He checks his pockets for his room key. Realizes he didn't get a room yet.
"The more handsh that work toward a goal, then easier it getsh. As long as they work together. I accept." He gifts her with a winning smile, only slightly weakened by the glaze of his eyes. Slow-broiled Merick. The thought occurs to him, and he chuckles, shaking his head, as he addresses the 'guide' without looking at him. "You mishundershtand, shir. I believe we, correct me if I am wrong Therana," at this point he gives her a companionable pat on the shoulder, then glances to Svalk and Zephir, "were going to the Temple tomorrow. I'll be quite fine, by then. If Sharenrae showsh any mercy." And so far, he was doing alright for himself in the not get burnt to a crisp department. Although there had been some close calls. He liked to think of them as wake-up calls.
His eyes focused on Therana after he drained the mug. Aye, that one might be the winner. His head swimming, he nevertheless responds. "Aye, I'll be going to the temple on the morrow. I've got some questions for the Father." A snort of amusement given as the courteous newcomer offers his services to the lady. Perhaps the man was sincere, so Merick kept his mouth shut on that particular subject. However... "There shall be a handful of us going to the Temple tomorrow, good sir, so I doubt the pickpockets would target such...lethal targets when there are easier pickings. Although with so many going, I'm sure one more wouldn't hurt." At this, he turns to the gunslinger, eyebrows going up in what can only be a 'it's your call' gesture. Had he slurred? His head was surely abuzz, now.
Merick glances at his company at the bar, wondering through the haze about the events of the evening. He was at a crossroads, he thought...in one direction, a whirlwind of events that would sweep him on to glorious destiny, in the other a life of obscurity and despair. Likely an early self-induced grave to boot. He grinned to no one in particular, holding his mug up for a brief moment in silent salute before tipping it back. All that was a worry for tomorrow...
"Whahhh?" Her face comes into focus, and he grins crookedly, then the rest of the room loses its haze and the grin fades. This was becoming a recurring theme in his life. At least he didn't wake up from his snooze to a pile of vomit on the floor or spilled beer in his lap. You had to cherish the little things. He glances at the newcomer, giving a curt nod of greeting as his cheeks flare up. He should have been used to it by now, but he still had enough dignity to know he looked a fool.
Merick nods at Zephir...he could understand the man's motivation. He himself had that same drive, only tempered by...he glances at the heavy pewter...experience. Sczarni scum seems a bit underwhelming for such a divine mission, but I fear that is the worst you will encounter here in Sandpoint. Did he believe it? Not a damned word! He still had that feeling in the pit of his gut, and for a change it wasn't the beer...rebrewing. That sense of destiny remained, gnawing at him. He glanced up in alarm as was her name Therana? invites the purple-haired youth to the bar, only to sigh in relief as she is led off by the inquisitive noblewoman. Two birds with one stone right there. If his luck got any better he'd have two beers in his hands. Nope, still only one.
Merick locates a dry rag, then tosses it to the woman. He nods briefly, then turns away. He's spilled worse before, he knows how it feels to bare the stares of the other patrons as you are forced to clean up after yourself. He sighs, accepting another mug of dark ale. He couldn't let it go to waste, and in the excitement from earlier his buzz had been reduced to a gentle murmur. To those close enough to hear: Strange things are afoot here. I wonder if this is the norm, or if trouble is brewing in this land? It sounds prophetic, to his ears. His intuition has led him astray many a time, but he felt sure he was getting pulled into a whirlpool of events the scope of which he couldn't grasp at the time.
The sounds of broken glass almost sets Merick's poor nerves on fire. An exotic-looking creature was examining her hands above the shattered mess. He started to call for a cookie, but noted the gambler taking a couple and changes his mind. Never could be too careful. He raises a hand in farewell to Svalk, eyes cutting to Vladlena again. Perhaps this one should be punished...she seemed to consort with thieves and worse. He held his tongue, though, wagging it about was likely to cause trouble, which was exactly what he was trying to avoid. He might have wanted a few of those nuts! Sure, he hadn't touched them yet, but it was the principle of the matter! Yep, the more people that streamed in, the worse the situation seemed to be. Maybe he ought to inquire the cost of a room.
Sczarni. At least here in Varisia the thieves had the decency to have a modicum of respect for the law, and accordingly operated discretely. Back home in Taldor, the lords and ladies looked out for their own city folk, and everyone else was left to the mercy of bandits. Or other lords. Things started clicking together. Merick pieced together the empirical evidence, combined with the tidbits snatched from Vladena and Therana. There HAD been one person concerned with loan sharks and Sczarni. One who had been gambling and conned another patron into a game of Towers. He remembers the initial offer of a game, and offers silent thanks to Sarenrae for giving him the good sense to ignore her in favor of the comfort of the bar. At this revelation, he actually notes Vladena and has to attempt to hide his lip curl of disdain. She might hide her origin behind faded travel clothes, but her bearing and speech said it all. Noble. After remembering someone's advice to not judge based on prejudice, but action, he relaxes, keeping the golden-eyed one in his periphery. Now that he was fairly certain what was going on, he was not worried about being magicked, but you could never be too careful.
He gives Therana a puzzled look. Comprehension slowly dawns as he glances at her waist, where he had glimpsed the hidden firearm. He had no knowledge of such things, but such items did not gain the moniker 'boom-sticks' for their silence. His gaze travels to the man administering aid to the fellows who were now slowly getting to their feet, then nods. "I believe there is wisdom in your words. I am Merick, and I hope we are well met." The strange events in the bar kept getting more peculiar. Muttering gnomes, tough-escorted goblins, purple-haired vixens, gun-wielding ladies, people dropping for no apparent reason, and now a minstrel asking for a song. It almost seemed like a drink-induced dream.
Merick glances at Satinder, confused amusement crossing his features. What was amiss? A peek at the doorway confirms the four fellows sprawled on the floor. No sounds of fighting, no shouting, no arguing, just on the floor, just like that. He had seen men keel over from a failing heart, or pass out from the heat, but four at once? Merick did not have the gift, but he knew sorcery when he saw it. That room was looking more appealing already. His eyes crossed the room, looking for obvious culprits. The fellow babbling about his studies might have been a suspect if he'd seemed more aware. He doubted the goblin would have tried anything in a room full of people. So two down, a dozen to go. A rueful grin spread on his face. How many women were there? One, two, ahhhh, a newcomer, three. He was right next to one, and hadn't heard her chanting anything...they did have to say words, right? He scratched his head, his ignorance on the subject annoying him. He reached in his coat pocket, grasping Her symbol. Perhaps he should salvage what remained of his sobriety for now, for things were surely afoot.
Merick nods in agreement, but instead of facing the room, he turns back to the bar, head down and eyes closed as he awaits a refill. Tomorrow would bring a new day, and perhaps a new focus for him. It had to. These empty days and brainwashed nights were becoming a routine, and one he didn't care for. He longed for home, even as his faith railed against the idea. The Dawnflower had no place in Taldor. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be a new start. He would let the holy flame of Sarenrae burn away his doubts and impurity and start anew. He knew it. His lips curled in a small smile of contentment. After going through his nightly deferment of responsibility, he started in on his fourth mug.
As he overhears some conversation, Merick chuckles. The lovely lass wouldn't be on the run long if she kept advertising herself so blatantly. And here he was, well into his cups. It was hard to be a hero when you couldn't stand up straight. He wasn't quite there yet, but he soon would be, so he silently prayed. Sarenrae, if trouble is brewing, please let it boil over now, or wait until tomorrow. Thanks! He doubted the goddess would show mercy to him in his present state, but it never hurt to ask. He had quite a large debt to her already, this was just a drop in the bucket. He continues to address the gun-toting lady and by association, the Gozreh worshipper. "Seems as though this Swallowtail Festival will be a grand sight. And since you seem interested in the Church, and Father Zantus seems as good a place as any to start making inquiries, for me, perhaps we could share a stroll there on the morrow? He finishes the third mug, a slight grimace at the bitter dregs evident for a moment. How many mugs until the taste didn't matter? Maybe he should slow down. Or get a room and lie down. Nope. More drink, then room.
Hmmmm...well he called that one wrong. Not unusual. He follows her gaze to the goblin, amusement coloring his voice. "Obviously he needed a nice cool place to eat his meal. Can't expect a fellow to chuck down a rat in the street, can you?" His head was feeling the foreshadowing buzzing he was looking for, and he relaxed a little, his shoulders slumping as he rested his left elbow on the bar. He asked in a tone of polite curiosity,"Any specific knowledge you are searching for? The holy father, Zantus, I believe his name is, might be able to help you if you inquire."
Addressing the pale-eyed fellow, Merick's cheeks brighten a little. He knew this was likely a dead lead, but he had to hash it out to the bitter end. It was in his nature. "Twould look like a cross between our friend over there" He points at Buzzgob, "and a wolf, or perhaps he would only have certain features of a wolf. I've heard it told both ways." He ignores the man's foreign drivel. No doubt a toast to the dead. A flush of heat crept up his face as he took another long drink. Ahhhh...that was better. Dull the senses, don't think about home. Or about his so-far inept career.
He nods to the rune-touching man, clearly his elder, and raises his drink. "I am sorry for your loss. Let us drink to her health!" A long pull taken, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
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