Misfire Mylok's page

Mylok grimaces, "I think I'll be alright. Just need a quick pick-me-up." He pops the stopper on one of the potions and downs the magical healing within.

The gunslinger, now used to Talienda at his side, peers over Talib's shoulder. Yeah, I wonder what's hiding in there for us, he thinks.

"Oh, we've come this far. We'll be fine, Duchess," Mylok says.

"Does anyone think we should be going after Killian? Hiding in a closet might not work twice for the man..." Mylok points over his shoulder with a half-hearted gesture and his words trail off.

"Oh, I think i took one too many rocks to the ol' cylinder. Anyone care to spare a healing tonic?"

Oof. Sorry. I took this:

unexpected tension between Killian and Talienda.

as we caught the tail end of that convenient. That's my mistake.

Mylok follows the others out into the hall and slips the rapier back into its leather sheath. He reloads the pistol and turns to face the others.

"You know, I was just starting to have some fun wh-" Talib's question cuts Misfire short. And the gunslinger nearly walks into the inquisitor's back.

"I know I was a little preoccupied but I don't see any cause to be speaking to Duchess like that."

I'm here. Wife and I are working from home with our son and somehow it's harder for me to dedicate time to check the boards.

Confirmation: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 6 + 1 = 13
Crit damage P: 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

I will be surprised if that confirms.

When the new corpse scrambles from the ground, Mylok glances around at the room.

Getting awfully cramped. Maybe Chatterbox was right, he thinks.

Misfire pulls his rapier from its sheath and thrust the blade toward the elven undead.

That kill restores the lost grit point.

Mylok smirks and repeats his gun spin. This time adding a bit of flair when dropping the gunpowder into the gun. He takes aim and fires at his original target.

Misfire turns his attention to the undead currently pummeling the door with the inquisitor’s face. Ok, how’s about we actually help a bit more? he says to himself.

Mylok spins the pistol around, tosses it over his shoulder, and catches it behind his back in the opposite hand. He drops some powder and a bullet into the barrel and takes aim on the cyan zombie.

”Pretty sure Anubis is looking for you, bud!”

I'll be checking periodically but my wife is now working from home and my son's daycare closed today. I may be remote by the end of the week.

yeah lol. I was like "Srsly? C'mon!"

"Back home, people run shops where kids can shoot toy rifles at wooden goblins for prizes." A grin spreads across Mylok's face as he waits for a halfway decent shot through the bars, "I miss home. But this'll do."

Got dangit. Where's a climbing kit when you need one. Pitons.

"Best to try and save that spell, no?" Mylok takes a moment to reload his pistol.

"Good thinking, Duchess. Let's get that door jammed." The gunslinger stepped forward to help with holding the door but just couldn't find the footing to help brace.

"Constable, is it possible that the thing might leave us be now that we are out of sight? How smart could a bag of bones be, right?"

Mylok whirls to face the horror that Killian had pointed out. The sight of the bloody thing causes the adrenaline to fire off in the gunslinger’s body. The pistol raises and Mylok squeezes the trigger on instinct, sending the round bullet hurtling past the inquisitor.

Thank you, precise shot.

We good!

Rissi speaks up at Mylok's comments.... Too many terrible stories follow that pattern of 'Kill them all and let Pharasma sort them out!'"

Mylok nods in agreement as Rissi speaks, "I think I may have misspoke. I simply meant that I can understand the line of thought that led to us all being here. I don't agree with it, but I understand it. But I also get that holding onto hatred like that can take a toll on your very soul. When my parents-" Misfire cuts himself short. A smile forms on his face that quickly turns into laughter.

"Take a toll on your soul!" He repeats and gestures around at the room, "As if that wasn't obvious!" between bouts of laughter he wheezes out a few words, "Oh, c'mon...that was...that...funny!"

With GM Omelas traveling, we will probably get an update thsi evening or tomorrow.

It's my character and I constantly catch my self writing "Mylock".

Crouching next to the body, Talib makes a few notes. ... "Most of the other staff is accounted for, in one way or another."

“To be fair, someone that is lookin’ to make chopping heads offa people a career, is probably the exact kind of person that would take pride in that sort of work.” Mylok takes a step over to peer into the opposite cell. Sweat weighs down his hair and he runs hand through it, combing it back out of his face.

“I almost can’t blame the guy, uh, Sveth I mean, for what he’s done. I mean, if my friend was arrested for a crime he didn’t commit and then the courts failed him I might find myself looking for whatever form a of justice I could get.” Mylok sighs and drops his shoulders, “Maybe these jurors deserv-” The gunslinger cuts himself short and shakes his head slowly, “No. I guess they didn’t”

Misfire takes a deep breath and stands up straight, “Regardless, we still have areas to search, no? Let’s see if we can figure out who this Sveth is.”

“If I’m not mistaken, and I don’t think I am, I’d wager to say that that is the remains of someone that lost their head.” Mylok grimaces and rubs at his own neck.

Set’s disciples! He thinks, It’s getting harder and harder to stay positive in this place. At least it’s not out there... a shiver runs down Misfire’s spine as his mind conjures up the memory of the void of the outside.

Fiddling with the strap of his pack, Mylok looks for anything to distract himself for even a moment.

Just checking in. I don't want to post in gameplay just to post.

"He might have needed a scapegoat," muses Talib. "Mayhaps it was a crime of passion. Hardly conducive to a career in law..."

“Right.”

The gunslinger slips the pistol free and adopts a rigid posture as he follows Talib, “Cold, dispassionate, by the book.”

Mylok relaxes his shoulders as he peers into the cells from over the inquisitor’s shoulder and in a tone that is, given the circumstances, more conversational than it should be, Mylok addresses the Keleshite, “I understand where you’re coming from on that, Constable. But I think I’d sooner listen to what my gut says is the right thing today before I follow some words some old timer wrote in a book I’ve never seen. Maybe if Mord’s jurors had done that, we might not be in the mess.”

The gunslinger shrugs, “If he was a scapegoat, I mean.”

”Coincidences seldom are coincidences,” Mylok muses. His gazes around the room at the corpses, both rotting and the recent, before landing on Killian. Killian and his pristine outfit.

Broom closet in an abandoned building and not a speck of dirt nor a bead of sweat, the gunslinger thinks to himself.

“‘spose a simple spell could clean his clothes.” Mylok mutters.

As if just taking in the room’s unique aroma, Mylok holds the crook of his arm up to his nose before addressing the group.

"Y-you mean Uncle Ally was involved in this, too? D-do you know of him? What happened to him," she asks, feeling the same heart-wrenching pain as before when she'd learned without a doubt what kind of a man her father really was.

“As much as I want to hear this, anyone else think we can continue this conversation elsewhere? I already feel like this stench is going to get stuck in my nostrils for weeks.”

“You hid in a broom closet? From a spirit?” The eyepatch on the gunslinger’s face shifts as the muscles twitch underneath while the working eye looks Killian over. Mylok relaxes a bit at the offer of the flask.

”I suppose there are stranger things happening,” Mylok says as he holds out a hand to accept the flask. When Killian slips the flask back into a pocket Misfire shifts the motion to a faux stretch, his elbow popping in the process.

Feeling a little more like herself and feeling bad for how she'd reacted to Mylock's arrival, she finds the Alkenstari man and gives him a hug.

"I'm sorry, Mylock. This place has frayed my nerves pretty badly," she apologizes. "I'm happy to see you alive and not controlled by whatever spirits haunt this place. Can you forgive me?"

Mylok pauses mid stretch, surprised at Talienda’s sudden hug, and hesitates before awkwardly patting the girl on the back.

“It’s, uh, it’s okay, Duchess. Someone once told me that it’s better to shoot an approaching croc twenty times than hope he’s just paying your boat a visit.”

Mylok holds Talienda at arms length, "The important thing now is that we get out of here."

I was holding off because I didn't want to be like "I'm back, gimmme the spotlight!"

And I could've sworn I posted something in the discussion.

With a hint of glumness, Mylok starts to work the dagger back into the sheath and reset the locking mechanism.

“Starting to think that vendor grossly oversold how often I’d use this thing,” he grumbled.

Mylok finally wrestles the lock back into place, “Yeah,” he grunts as the sheath pinches his arm, “you all have that ‘just had to fight a rotting corpse’ look about you.” He looks up to see Sinésiel kneeling over the body of Madge and finally realizes the extent of the fight as he deflates. "Set’s disciples.”

“Well, ” Mylok starts as he slips into the room with Talib and Siné, “I can tell you that whatever is going on, we have to deal with it before we can even think about getting out of this place.” The gunslinger kicks one of the undead and immediately regrets it when his boot pulls a glob of...ooze loose. “I went back to look for…” he blinks as if struggling to recall an important fact, “something...in the western courtroom when I noticed a large crack in the ceiling. Long story short: there’s nothin’ outside of this building. And I don’t mean nothin’ like it’s all normal. I mean nothin’ like I ran around in nothing for ages. I finally stumbled onto a set of stairs and, well…” Mylok gestures around at the room. “Something strong is keeping us here. And it is pissed.”

Round #3. Init 17

Mylok glances at the wavering knife and back at Talienda, ”I just went through hell to find you lot.” The gunslinger motions to Talib and Siné to come on through before slipping a vial of simmering, green liquid from his pack and lobbing it over Talib’s head at his follower. Mylok ducks behind the wall before seeing if the vial of acid hits its mark. ”Please don’t make it all a waste of time, Duchess,” Mylok forces a grin and listens for the shattering of glass.

Too cramped to properly aim, he thinks and snaps one arm out to his side, sending the stored dagger into his hand.

I got all amped-up and forgot that our GM rolls our initiative.

The steady pounding of leather boots on stone announces Mylok’s arrival seconds before his dishevelled figure bursts from the dim hallway into the light of the open doorway. Dark circles hang under the gunslinger’s one eye and the graying hair adhere to his forehead with sweat. White knuckles grip Mylok's battered pistol, as if the man is desperate to cling to something real.

Misfire's face lights up at the sight of Rissi and Talienda, "Chatterb-" he begins to greet them but the sounds coming from inside the room pull his attention away.

Initiative: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17

Yeah I was planning on putting the changes here too.

Sorry for my delay on posting, I was reading through everything that happened.

That's what where I landed.

Working on leveling Mylok. Shouldn't take too long.

Weird question though, since I've almost always leveled during some rest period, how are HP being handled?

Like, if your character was at 2/10 HP and now has a max of 20, do you have 2/20 or 12/20?

I just wanted to elaborate on what exactly happened to me in Sept/Oct.

I was in a fairly bad car wreck which left me with 2 cracked ribs, and a bunch of bruises. I reached out to GM Omelas and asked that GM let my games know that I would be back in a bit. But, as it turns out, the doctor at the ER missed the fact that I had a broken tibia as well. Other than some bruising, you couldn’t tell by looking at my leg that anything had happened. So, after a little over week of telling my wife that my left leg was not feeling any better and was starting to feel worse we finally got a doctor to x-ray my leg. Well, they had to rebreak my leg since it had already started to heal some.

Fast forward to the end of December and I’m feeling better. But then, my 6 & ½ month old son starts breathing erratically and his O2 levels are way low at night when he sleeps. (We have him wear a pulse oximeter.) Turns out, he had such a strong cold that his congestion was keeping him from breathing properly and he had to hospitalized for a few days.

Needless to say, I was straight up not having a good time. Other than sit around and watch TV, I really had no desire to do much of anything.

Now, however, bruises are healed, ribs are healed, and my leg is still broken. But pretty close to being healed ( I hope.)

Oh, and also, helloski.

Mylok clears his throat, suddenly ashamed at his overreaction. "Uh, thanks, Chatterbox. This scrap of cotton is the last thing I have from home, ya know? Even this," he gestures at the firearm, "was pilfered from some thug after my own, uh, blew up." He hesitates for a moment before continuing.

"I get what ya mean about the flask. I carry a couple of vials of acid around but I just couldn't justify tossing one in with those things swarming all over us.' Misfire scratches the back of his head, "Good news is, we don't have to worry about those things getting after anyone while we're trying to get out of this place."

”Really? No one is going to mention how I blasted those bastards right out or the sky? Er, out of the courtroom?” Mylok asks as he reloads his pistol one last time and slips it back into the leather holster. The gunslinger grins and rests one hand on his hip, striking the most heroic pose he can muster, ”Almost like you lot need me or something.”

He wipes away some sweat from his brow and grimaces when the rough fabric of his shirt rubs against an open wound on his cheek, deflating any sense of heroism he may have presented. Mylok pulls back the bloody sleeve and mutters, ”Rotting bastards. I guess they got me worse than I thought. `How'd you get that dashing scar, Misfire?’ ‘Oh you know, undead bird swarm mistook my mug for a rotting carcass.’ Godsdammit! I just had this shirt cleaned too.”

Mylok gives a wave of the hand as the others bring up checking on the jurors though he does make his way through the main hall to wait by the courtroom doors.

Mylok grits his teeth and moves to the open double doors at talib's command.

"C'mon you feather bastards"

Just inside of the doorway he fires another shot, hoping to put the red swarm down before it rips the flesh from Siné's bones. Keep still, Hathor, the gunslinger thinks as he squeezes the trigger.

Mylok curses and swats at the undead birds as the peck and claw at his flesh, ”Get off of me!”

I’m not leaving the Professor!” he shouts back at Talib before diving through the festering flock of fowls. The gunslinger rolls and comes up running. He spins just in time to see Skurly bolting out of the courtroom and into the main hall. With a grin on his face, Mylok fires the pistol at the group in the corner again.

@Skurly You have inspired me.

GM is the judge's bench higher ground or that just a wall separating?

@GM If I had thought of it (or had time to get back to you) I would've clarified. But yeah, that's what I had meant.

Not to be a total nerd but swarms of tiny creatures only take half damage from piercing or slashing. A firearm does bludgeoning and piercing.

It didn't actually occur to me that they could be swarms for some reason. I used the word as a descriptor only. But that makes perfect sense.

"Set's disciples! Mylok curses as the feathered nightmare attacks. He fires off a round at the mass but the shock of what is before him causes Misfire to squeeze the trigger before properly aimed.

Resolved to save the halfling, Mylok darts to the side of the room. His hands act on their own, dropping the powder and bullet, packing the barrel, and re-aiming the worn pistol. By the time Mylok reaches the opposite corner he has found his mark and fires into the second mass.

Standing by the open door, opposite of Talib, the gunslinger was ready to be the last one out. Or, at least, the second to last. The Constable looks like he'd sooner die than let someone else be the last one out, Mylok thinks.

Too focused on the..whatever it is, Mylok does not notice Skurly moving into the room until he was already out of reach.

"Hey. HEY!" Mylok whispers after the halfing, his voice toeing the line between a whisper and a shout. "Whatever it is professor, it's not worth messing with that."

When it becomes apparent that Skurly is set on exploring, Mylok grits his teeth and readies for something to happen. It always happens.

Mylok takes a step into the room and follows Siné's finger to the mass on the ceiling.

"Well, I can tell you what it isn't," the gunslinger says. "It's definitely not part of this building."

"You wanna step out, Duchess?" Misfire addresses Talienda though his gaze never leaves the squirming mass.

Mylok nods along as Skurly gives his impromptu speech. Damn straight, he thinks. That sister of his put into words what took me half my life to figure out.

The man raises a finger, ”Point of order, Constable, Dawnflower is also the goddess of redemption.” Mylok opens his mouth then closes it - a fine impression of a fish - then adds, ”Just pointing it out. But you're right, this isn't really the time for religious debates.”

As for you,” Misfire turns his attention to Siné, ”I should’ve known you weren’t a traditional priestess. You’ve yet to give a sermon on the ‘importance of reformation and turning one’s back on one’s evil ways’,” he adopts a nasally tone as impersonates a stereotype. ”Quite frankly, I find it refresh-” Mylok is finally silenced when something hits the other side of the door. He nods to Siné and steps over the old bones, his firearm at the ready.

I didn't name the parts!

Shorter post from me. Someone in my office downloaded a virus and shut us down yesterday. I've been made part of the team to help wipe computers and I'm now posting from my phone, on my break, from the office, where I can't actually work. Yay.

Mylok loads the flint into the cock. With it half-cocked, upends the powder horn down into muzzle and tamps it down with the ramrod.

"Well," he wraps a metal ball in a patch and drops it into the muzzle, "I believe that gift of yours is going to prove more and more useful."

Mylok slips the pistol into its holster and kneels down by the pile of now-still bones. Good dog, he says to himself.

The gunslinger grits his teeth and aims the business end of his pistol at the reanimated hound hoping to put the creature down swiftly.

”That looks like our hobgoblin’s work,” Mylok gestures to the rusted chain just before the bones begin to move.

As the undead hound raises from the floor his eyes go wide. The gunslinger takes a single, calculated step forward. With a quick glance to the others he holds an open palm out to skeletal canine. ”We’re okay. Lay back down. You’re okay.”

C’mon boy, let us help you Mylok says to himself.

I do want to point out that Mylok is mostly talk.