Pathfinder Society GM. 57 posts (2,107 including aliases). No reviews. 1 list. No wishlists. 27 Organized Play characters. 10 aliases. 
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Just posting to say I'm here and checking....
Hope everyone is well.
Freeform XP sounds fine, and I am for removing needless combat. Regarding the Shield Champion and his Shield Bounce: He can't attack multiple targets with a throw in a standard action (at least, not with the build/feats he currently has). The description is fairly specific in that he can take iterative attacks with his thrown shield, and iterative attacks are defined as a full round action. (again, assuming no spells/feats otherwise). (or as exampled earlier, bash/throw or throw/bash). Additionally, the Shield Champion states that he can use the throw feature as part of a brawler's flurry, so (throw-shield/empty-hand/throw-shield) or (empty-hand/throw-shield/empty-hand). Again, the flurry is a full-round action by it's own definition. The shield returns to the thrower at the end of their turn, so they can use it in defense. Invandi has on his sheet a +1 Adamantine Heavy Throwing Shield (offense) with +1 Radiant (defense); his range increment is 20ft.
... and I did take the shield mostly for ranged combat maneuvers, especially bullrush, trip and reposition. Now would be a good time to ask a clarification/permission question on the build, however.
I would like to request that we allow him to take advantage of that by counting the throw as a ranged shield bash... but then we would have to adjudicate the directions enemies move if a multi-throw shield-bash happened. It isn't until level 17 that the shield champion gets the ability to source his attacks from the shield's last position, so I would suggest that the bull rush attempt's direction is sourced in a line from Invandi's square? That might be a bit of a reach, but it is the corner case that I am unsure of and am losing some damage output on going with a ranged build. For example, Invandi could have critical'd the overseer for 2d6+6 and still got his bullrush off. (Though I was explicitly going for the CMB this round because fire push seemed fun.)
It's funny looking back at a 5am, sleep deprived post. Not too bad, except I didn't realize how much I had used the word assess. I'm usually cognizant of repetitive phrasing.... Too late to fix it now. :)
"I don't recall, things are a bit foggy." He looks up as he realizes his words, "I mean in my head. Sorry." "My name is Invandi. I feel like I'm back in control of myself. I'm not much of a magician though, could it happen again?"
Invandi comes to, and the resonance of the scream against his gag changes from madness to the low whimper of realized terror. "What have we. No, what have I done?" he asks himself as he regains control of his actions. He quickly attempts to shift himself to sit upright and better assess the room. He is not at all thankful of the light, with which he can see the discoloration on his fellow captives, and his own already blue-ish skin. He catches his own birthmark across his torso and instinctively attempts to cover it by closing his damaged vest. He notices that he is unbridled with most of his gear, and scans the room to see if his shield or some other means of defending himself is available. Unsure of his status with the old captors and the new, he begins to try and slip out of his bonds...
As one of the new captors enters the room, he stops his actions...
The monk stands in front of the doorway, eyes and ears still scanning the village. He tries to block out the continued screaming and focus on other sounds, knowing that he can not do anything until the business here is resolved... or interrupted. Cursed lands indeed. Then another unbidden thought flitters across his mind. and cursed companions? Flashes of fire and ice, gesturing fingers, a dhampir, and a translucent sword come to mind. He pushes the thought aside, acknowledging they are the only reason the town is defended. His palms itch in irritation.
Ajir, Level 2 Adjustments: BAB: +1 HP: +8 (6 class, 2 con) Fort Save: +1 Reflex Save: +1 Will Save: +0 Skills: (4 base, 1 favored class, 2 background)
Class Features:
"Good night Doctor, Marinus." He studies the night sky though the window a moment longer, before nodding to whoever is left in the room. "Perhaps it is time for some shut eye." Ajir retreats to the southeastern room where he earlier discarded his backpack. Setting the dinner-table glass on the trunk next to his claimed bedding, he then unhooks his water-skin from his backpack and fills the glass. Task completed, he takes a drink from the glass and sets it back down on the trunk. His eyes shift, as if both distant and focused while his motions begin to seem more done by rote than natural. He turns around the room, taking it in. He then carefully begins to remove the topmost blanket and sheet, trying his best to leave the rest of the bed made. He sets the blanket carefully on the ground between the two beds. He begins the process of disrobing. His boots find a place against the trunk. His cloak becomes neatly folded into a square on top of the trunk. At his back is a black baton about a foot in length, which he unhooks from his belt and places on the corner of the bed. His baggy shirt comes off next, and find itself folded neatly atop his cloak. His belt he lays across the toes of his boots. He removes his trousers, and sets them over the edge of the bed. The rote movement seems to stutter a moment, as he grabs at the sheet and ties it around his waist. Once securely fastened, he returns to folding his trousers and placing them atop his shirt. Unclothed, except for the effort at decency among strangers, he takes to his knees on the spread out blanket. He grabs the baton and faces to the west. Then, folding at the stomach, he bows baton outstretched. The cloud-diffused moonlight highlights the colors on the blackened baton, and its shapes clearly define two sides. "For the past, forever carried forwards." As he ends the bow, he pulls the baton towards him. With a twist and a tug, it splits and reveals each side of the baton hides a blade of the other. He places the gently places the left dagger at his knees. He bows again, arms outstretched with the dagger he carries to the right. The light reveals a polished black handle, smooth save for a simple curve from center-blade to pommel. "For my mother, who taught me how." He unfolds again, back upright. Without looking, he gently sets down his mom's gift at his knees while picking up the other dagger. He bows again, arms outstretched with the dagger he carries to the left. The light reveals a smooth black handle, with an engraving filled in vibrant yellow. A raven in flight above sunflowers, and beak open in song. "For my father, who taught me why." Returning to his kneeling position, he grabs the handle of the blade on the ground and returns them both to the interlocked position. He bows again, proffering the baton once more. "For the others, from whom I learned the rest." Returning to his kneeling position, he pauses for a moment before turning to face east. He bows his head slightly and finishes his ritual. "Today I live; may my ancestors have pride." Another short pause and he gives himself a satisfied nod. Finished, he lays down on the blanket, sliding his baton beneath the natural curve of his neck.
Ajir's smile returns when he wakes up in the morning. After getting dressed he spends a few minutes to re-make his bed. As he goes to enjoy breakfast, he returns the glass to the dining table, and continues to drink from it given the state of the porridge. "Surely she has some grapes or something out there," he ponders out loud while looking at his bowl.
Ajir leans back in his chair. His brow lifts at Kendra's response. He starts to say something, but stops himself when his tongue doesn't work quite right. After a few swigs from his water glass, he returns to the conversation. "Lady Lorrimor? Divination? Interesting choice, I can see how that would be helpful to your father. Would you share with us the most interesting thing you have divined?" He turns back to Emm and Marinus, "When you choose to suffer through adversity in pursuit of purpose, that adversity is the grindstone that tears away imperfection, leaving you capable of achieving your goals. It is a noble and romantic goal of self-sacrifice to be idealized, as should all pursuits of mastery." "Though one should not have their passions chosen for them. That is torment, and the grindstone just tears."
He sits down and tries to enjoy the bisque. His smile at the proffered dinner never fades, though his eyes do dart about the table looking for some vinegar. He wonders how many tears must have been lost while making dinner, barraging her taste such as to conceal the sea-water she must have used to make it. His ears perk as Marinus tries to strike conversation at the table, and he listens with interest to the Lady of the house.
Ajir waits a few minutes and then leaves the readers in peace. He heads downstairs to the bath. Stripped down, he spends a few minutes with the basin to wash his clothes. His voice hums in a deep rhythic pattern as he washes the mud and grime from the edges of his clothes. When accomplished, he sets them across a chair in front of the fireplace to dry. Then he draws the water pail and a cloth, exfoliating what he can before dipping into the water. He spends a couple more minutes getting the water in the bath to temperature, perhaps a little too hot as to be comfortable longer. Still humming, he slips inside before breaking tune and letting out a satisfactory sigh. Using the heat of the water to help he rubs at his shoulder and arms that helped carry the prolonged burden of the coffin. His thumb pulls and stretches the taught lines that threaten to explode from his skin. Once satisfactorily relaxed, he drives his legs above the water to fall further inside. Eyes closed, he thinks back to the start of the procesession, and the thunder that took him backwards in time. He dwells on it for minutes, exploring the fear and its cause. He quickly notes the similarities of situation and accepts his reaction, hoping in the future to draw upon the lesson of today. He lets out a bubble, felt drawn upwards from his nose, but unseen from his eyes. He imagines it drifting to the surface, and then it continuing on, rising above the surface of the tub and continuing on through the ceiling, the roof, the sky, and whatever lay beyond. Then another bubble allows another thought to escape, Percy had surprised him with the chair. A warning that even with all his practice, that sometimes luck is not in his favor. Another bubble trickles upwards. That a town could be so isolated and some of its members lacked a foundation of trust for each other surprises Ajir. I wonder what Sifu Hime would think of this community. No doubt his old master would try to improve the conditions of the townsfolk by improving the problematic townsfolk themselves. He knew the Professor was interested in people, and that was a particular skill that Ajir did learn for all his lack of studying the texts. Perhaps in his month here he can pay homage to both his saviors. A final bubble rises from his nose, no longer carrying outward a thought. A moment longer and Ajir rises from the water, done. Once dried and clothed, he'll spend some time with Kendra in the kitchen. While not a cook himself, he has no interest in the tomes above and can use the time to get to know their hostess better. When the time comes, Ajir allows himself to be pulled away from the tasks at hand and review the others findings.
Ajir claps lightly, the splashing of two rain soaked hands making more noise than the hands themselves. He stands, "Good share, Emm", saying her stated name with a question of acceptance or rejection. "If I may, it seems so very strange to be standing here and acknowledging our shared sorrows for a man who invigorated our lives." "When my ancestral home was ravaged, there were only two survivors. The man I would call Master and myself, too young to know his own peril. Along came the professor, I suppose he had not heard from a friend amongst my people in some time and had rightly worried. His keen eye and bright mind saw the darkness that had enveloped me, and bore me away from that place." "I travelled at his side for a while, too sickly to really understand his attempts at tutoring from dusty old tomes. But he did expose me to so much life and wonder from the people he engaged with. He would quickly find what each place had to offer his intellect, and collect allies and brotherhoods between townships to further their collective goals. And he never turned away a needful soul." "For all candles brought to him were given their brightest flames." "If I may..."
Here your twilight passes,
Ajir strains from the tension in his shoulder, loose clothing exposing the thin strands of corded muscle that run from neck to ear. "Sir, surely you don't speak for the whole town." he takes his free arm and waves it over towards the rest of the gathered at the grave-site. "I cannot imagine your intention here is to cause young Lady Kendra more distress at the loss of her father than she's already endured. Let us take him to his grave and then you can make your case to everyone gathered, and hide your shame behind civilized discussion."
Ajir has decided against clothing for the inclement weather, allowing his more urban and formal garments to drench in somber accordance of the task. He acknowledges the exchange and quietly takes his place among the pallbearers. When the temple resonates with sound, he tenses and has sudden interest towards the rest of the temple as if expecting something hideous to emerge. When the thunderclap's echos subside he loosens up... shakes his head and grins at himself. "Looks like the gods themselves mourn your passing, professor." he whispers to the coffin.
A younger man stands aside his seat at the table, carefully removing his cold weather clothing and setting it near the fireplace to dry. He starts by changing his boots and pants from underneath his cloak, as such to maintain modesty. "Apologies" he offers with a smile, "forgive my indecency for the utility of getting out of the wet!". Once succeeded, he sets his cloak down and strips off his shirt. Thick black hair tops the gaunt youth. The fireplace shimmers off green eyes and gives an orangish tint to his olive skin. He turns and bends from the waist to reach into his pack... and the cords of muscles clinging to bone can be seen flexing across his ribs and back. He bends back up and kicks the pack against the bench, throws his shirt into the air whistle and then reaches into the sky, cloth falling into place around his torso. He makes the effort to pull his hair out from underneath the shirt, which hangs off of him loosely. He then smiles at anyone at the table and partakes happily of the provided breakfast. "Wait, you mean to tell me you are all three librarians?" He looks to Dr. Draznoi, Millicent and Sebastian. "I didn't really understand the usefulness of literature until I was older. Are all of Petros' other associates geniuses except me?" He asks in such a tone as to be rhetorical and acknowledge the gifted at the table. "The professor rescued me from my home, after disaster destroyed it," he responds to Sebastien "I owed him twice, and the opportunity for this journey makes thrice. Tell me, my enlightened fellows, how does one return three debts to a dead man?"
Appearance and Backstory appear!
A character name! Ajir Jiro, Unchained Monk with the Invested Regent and Windstep Master archetypes. I will post a backstory/personality-profile in this alias soon.
Hello again! A chance to get in on the ground floor this time... with a fleshed out PC idea? Wheee.... Now to come up with an interesting PC idea...
Otah returns to his room inside the Kelmarane manor. He takes the time to carefully unstow and clean his gear before setting it in an organized and aesthetically pleasing place within the room. Zenzirad hangs beside his bed, nestled snugly in a hook that extends a few inches away from the wall. His journal sits upon his desk, as well as a few empty books that will eventually contain instruction manuals on how best to wield the horsechopper and how best to wield a glaive. His strength in writing lies in direct wording. He has set aside another empty tome for an epic tale based on the events of the recent past... but fears his prose is unlikely to inspire readers. Thus he plans on making it a group effort, and each of the party members names already appear on the bottom of the cover, though the title itself remains blank. He has plans to return homeland and visit on occasion, aided by the help of a magic carpet or perhaps a friend's swifter magic. But his home will be here, drawn to continue aiding in the areas more martial defenses. He will train other warriors to take up the mantle of Kelmarane's defenders.
Otah stands stoic and offers Nefeshti a view of Zenzirad. "After felling Jhavhul, the azer's weapon lost its purpose and changed. To what you see before you now. A mighty weapon forged from evil's demise."
The dwarf spends the evening in Ami's grove, pen and his journal in hand. He documents how Zenzirad feels in his hands, surmises the best ways to handle such a weapon; he documents the journey towards Jhavhul's end and the people met along the way. When dawn comes he wakes. Silently gathering his gear he watches Pent's spellcasting in awe. "You have a gift gnome." He quickly pulls out his pen and journal again and jots down a quick note:
He pauses for a moment, then adds:
Otah slide steps away from the winged women and answers Jhavhul's request with a flurry of Zenzirad's sting. No wishes. Come for me now.
The dwarf takes a step forward, and engages each enemy he can reach with his enlarged status. "There's a bunch of salamanders to our west. I don't think they're hostile... yet!"
Sorry guys, I was going to check in on Saturday afternoon, but northern california... At least work has power...
Have fun! *looks up Riot Fest...*
Job security? :) Good luck!
Congrats to your wife. Seven days a week is rough man, good luck!
"Ah... there you are!" Otah's bounds up onto the table, Zenzirad coming around in a wide downward arc.
Otah surveys the damage with a smile. "Yep, it knows." "We should head to the North Bridge, it's closest and Nefeshti could prevent more leaders from joining the fray... if we can take it."
"Inside Kakishon, we encountered a mausoleum and the remains of Venema... a brass dragon who was still waiting for Nex to rest there. He spoke of Andrathi, and that after spending some time there Jhavul found him. He died on it's steps." The dwarf's eyes lower, saddened to be the bearer of bad news though the closure may be worth the pain. Eyeing the map, Otah points at the Lower Gate "We should start here. A blow to..." His eyes fall on Amiamble. "You ride upon an angry ghost?"
"Into a fire." Otah swaps the horsechopper back out for Zenzirad. "It is good he did not decide to just leave one of us alive. Now what?"
Otah turns to face the stairs, waiting for the halfling to finish his arboreal conversation. "Well done Aldebert. Though what if we have to come back through here after it wakes up?"
Otah shrugs. He moves closer to the halflings while stowing Zenzirad and pulling out his horsechopper. "Missed you."
I'm heading out of town for the holiday week. Visiting friends in Wyoming (about three hours south of Yellowstone). I leave Sunday and arrive back... some time the following weekend. I *should* have some sort of internet access out there... but it might be just my cell phone; my archaic grandfathered plan doesn't allow for tethering. =/
Otah sets up to stab at any thing that may attempt to jump over the wall, or approach.
The dwarf grins and then raises his arms as if to mimic a zombie. "I am the great foulspawn pOTAHto...!" and then tries hissing at the halflings, but coughs in the attempt. "I uh, think the eyes sprouted outside my clothing. Thank goodness." He does stop to check his beard for hidden orbs. "It is confusing... but I think I'm getting the hang of this..."
While the party studies their spellbooks or prays, the dwarf silently contemplates entries in his journal. Recalling the movement through this forsaken fire plane, he notes the efreeti fighting style and their use of large weapons for their large frames. And hidden elves. He makes a note about finding some way to deal with flying creatures, as he did not bring a decent bow with him when they journied to the scroll-world. After some reflection, he nods appreciatively at his work, believing himself to have learned something from these perilous travels. ---------------------- "no, I really am looking for a brass doorknob," he says, slightly testily. "Multiples, if possible." --you know, what, never mind, I'll do this spell on Otah. Otah!!" The dwarf rises from the floor and puts away his journal. He moves towards the mage, at Mahdi's request. "I'll keep an eye out for them. You'd think a place called 'The City of Brass' would have them in abundance." "Also, Thank you for the protection from the elements here, but what magic is this gift you're about to put upon me?" ---------------------- The dwarf ignores most of the conversation regarding the extraplanar beings and their intentions, to him they are tools at the mage's command. And Mahdi's ego would not let such beings overtake his pride. ---------------------- Otah will accept a Glibness if no one else takes the offer. Never really great at putting words together, if it becomes necessary he'll appreciate the help. ---------------------- He looks at Lavesk in interest, and is awe-struck at the divine might of Pent and his Sarah when the djinni stops sobbing. He gives Pent a clasp on the shoulder, "Well done." "Job's not done yet though." He moves off, ready to clear out more of this confounded place.
"I doubt we'll be that lucky Aldebert" the dwarf mumbles under his breath. The dwarf leans against Zenzirad, curious to see how the wizard handles his newfound wards request.
For those that don't know yet already, I recently received a promotion. I'm moving into a new work environment on Tuesday (The 1st is my start day!) I don't see this effecting my (admittedly slow-ish) post ability, but Monday and Tuesday of next week may be super hectic as I finalize gathering my stuff and setting it up the day after.
Otah's head rolls downward to glare at the gnome. It stays that way for a few seconds before his shoulders shrug as if to say what the hell, why not?
Round 1, Initiative Otah smirks a little, when the ghasts surround. "I think we're in trouble." Switching his grip on his weapon, his horsechopper becomes a whirl of activity.
for
"Running. Good idea."
The dwarf watches as the gnome and the hostess spar words back and forth. As Dilix stands to leave, he blurts out. "The scroll opened in a cyclone of fire! Your Jhavul passed us by and then we landed in this forsaken place. It makes no sense. We slayed a hydra, received message by turtle-protean beast to kill some ram for its horn, watched as the horn called a boat to be eaten by some other turtle in an endless cycle of stupid ravagery. Then we came here. This place is a mindless hell with no sensibility and He means well by it. You want us to work for you, that doesn't require trust, we just have to know that we want the same damn thing. And I want out of this damned hell." If she continues to leave, he continues his tirade in a shout at her back.
Otah spends some of his off time practicing with his newly enchanted horsechopper. In evenings, he can be found recounting some of the attacks and counter-attacks used in the battles against the oddities of the store-house into his journal. During days, he can be found between patrolling Rayhan's halls and compound, or pal-ing it up with the gnome.
"What do you look like without the beard?" "Probably like a fat gnome." he grins. "Do dwarves have chins?" The dwarf rolls his eyes..."No... it's straight from nose to neck here." "Do dwarven children have beards?" "When they reach adulthood." "Do you call the woman's nethers a beard, too, since they don't wear 'em on their faces?" The dwarf laughs, "There are many a rude name for such parts, but we're proud of our facial hair. I suppose some cou..." he stops himself and shudders, "No, we don't call them that." "What is it with dwarves and beards?" "The gods graced us with something beautiful. Shouldn't we as proud of them as gnomes are for their ingenuity?" "Does nose hair contribute?" He laughs, "Sometimes, the elderly don't pluck them... but I think humans have the same problem." "What about ear hair? Do you ever braid that?" "Disgusting." " Ooo, ooo, or your arm's pit?" "... I'd probably need an elf's hands for that." "What dwarven traditions exist involving beards?" "Many, a beard is just as celebrated for it's strength as it's beauty. We occasionally gather to toss our beards over a bar and see who can stand getting their beards pulled long enough to lift them over the bar. Winners usually drink free for a week. That's not nothing for my kind." "The longer the beard, the shorter the..?" "I wouldn't know gnome, my beard is quite bountiful." "You ever colored your beard?" "Not on purpose... had a handmaiden fetching some paint once trip over me... was finding red polka-dots for a week." "You ever have your beard plum burned off?" "No... though Mahdi sure keeps trying." "If a dwarf turns vampire, do they retain their beard?" "Yes... but they always turn white." "Your beard ever get you into trouble, you know, like getting caught in a woman's teeth?" The dwarf laughs, "perhaps you should ask that new found wife of yours" he lets the uncomfortable thought hang for a second before continuing, "how she feels about your beard." "How often do you groom it?" "Only when someone does something to it, otherwise it tends to be fine on it's own." "You use any special products to manage its luster?" "Water?" "Do dwarves get beard envy?" "Sometimes it happens..." the dwarf trails off.
Otah nods in agreement. "I've nothing against that. Wouldn't want to give him a reason to singe my beard.... any more." he plucks at soot covered facial hair. "You want some of us to stay, and some of us to go, the very day we return to tend to Rayhan, in his weakened state. Are you forgetting that Mahdi and I are spent, spell-wise? We'll need as much rest as Rayhan to get ourselves up to snuff, if we're fixing on splitting up." "Pent's right, we should get some rest ourselves. I'm eager to retrieve my horsechopper, but we all could use rest." "And if I may, I would very much like to review the details of my rescue. Perhaps there is something that may provide me some further guidance in my research?" Otah listens to the gnome's portrayal of events and offers little in addition, other than to criticize the sanity of the Jackal and his minions. "Yes, we should be leaving this evil city and the crazies within: the Crying Priestess of Sarenrae and the Abarans who Think It Is Okay To Steal. We should leave here because Sarenrae does not want this scroll unlocked. She wants us to protect and we cannot do it here in this City of Crazed." "Let's find out what it is. It could guide us to the thing she actually wants us to protect, not just this scrap of paper." "But we should do it tomorrow, after we've retrieved our gear, sales, and are rested enough to deal with the ramifications."
The dwarf moves into a flanking position with the halfling as his axe lashes back out.
Otah steps forward into the room. "You say you kidnapped someone just to lure us here? So that we might deal with you?" Otah shakes his head. "You won't like how you're dealt with. And at this point; I doubt your bargaining chip has more value than it's owner."
Alright gnome, gnome, wall of gnomes, damnit, gnome The dwarf is distracted by his efforts of thought that he hardly notices his translocation. He's brought out of his reverie by the presence of the guard. Stepping forward, he swings his warhammer to knock the foe down.
The dwarf readies his weapon, and gives Aldebert a nod.
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