B$$~*%@s, my apologies, could have sworn gunslingers were APG. Ill have a re think.
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The stranger's arrival heralds a choice for the inn's drinkers- whether to laugh, or to laugh so hard they fall from their stools. A thin, bespectacled man with a shuffling gait and the nervous hands of a painter walks through the door, instinctively nodding politely to everyone, wiping condensation from his glasses and smiling at the woman. "I am dreadfully grateful ma'am, after some days walk in these sodden plains I feel some desire for a sherry, or the house red..." His words and figure are not the cause of much pause; plenty of other such men have traveled through the town, Doctor Lorrimor just one of them. "Their reaction stems from the contrast in symbol and meaning derived from my garments and my manner" as the man, Doctor Percival Lawson, would say. For the good doctor is dressed in hard, boiled leathers nearly two sizes too big for him, small metal studs emblazoned in places, with the dirt and mud of a hard day's trek written across his brown denim trousers. A large, high-crowned, wide-brimmed hat threatens to slip past his large imply ears and cover his face, but remains bafflingly balanced as its owner shuffles into the tavern, his body settling atop a stool daintily. He gives a simpering little smile to everyone before turning to the barmaid, settling his hat onto the bar next to him revealing a thin comb-over, and asking, "A glass of discussed, if you would be so kind, ma'am?" he fetches out and pushes over a few silver coins. OOC: Hullo. I'd like to play in this game as I've never played Second Darkness before, and I've always wished to get more use out of good ol' Percival Lawson. Hard to say what I like most about RPGs, I have much affection for both the RP and the G. I'd hope for a game that won't die within a week, or at least will move along reasonably swiftly before it does. From you as a GM, I'd love the use of maps for combat, as well as your best effort in running the game; I'll try to give mine as a player.
Name: Percival Lawson Race: Human Male (37) Alignment: LG Class: Gunslinger Backstory: I'll write some more later, but in essence- a museum curator in Sandpoint who one day foiled a robbery with an antique musket, discovering the thrill of the adrenaline rush as well as that of a life not bogged down in administration, so he bought some second-hand clothes that seemed appropriate (guess how much of his life savings he was charged) and went off as a hired gun. If I might request a single extension of the core material- would you mind allowing the Musket Master archetype?
Back from hospital and all well, sorry to bother you fellows couldn't remember enough to tell Mrs Arkwright which games to exclude. Best of luck!
Percival joins Lucanor in administering healing, from man-made rather than divine sources.
"I would check the progress of our plague-curing procurements, then on the townspeople... politics and plans involving me will wait until the wounded are in their beds with clean bandages."
Percival is already bent over his patient, checking pulse, breathing and temperature in a swift succession. "Alive, stable, unconscious... I would rather not wake or move him, but needs must as the devil does..." Pulling out another vial, Percival tips it down the Sheriff's throat, then slaps the man's cheeks one by one.
Any triumph in Percival is quickly stamped out by the bloody tableau; he takes a step towards the villages, eyes scanning for wounded before he controls his first impulse and steps back with the group. "Event first, then consequences... forward."
[ooc]Round 7 and 8
Are the baldy and the blondie on the north of the map baddies?
Percival moves up behind Hecktor and taps him on the back; proffering a small vial, he pours it down the fighter's throat.
The thin alchemist mixes and lobs another bomb at the ogre zombie at the back.
Gritting his teeth, Percival moves up close away from the Cultist and waits, alert.
"Urgathoa's appeal and validity is crippled by her poor mainstream marketability and false-thinking, forever dooming her to be a second-rate goddess, an ugly monkey existing only to dance and disgust its audience!" Percival calls back to the voice. Swiftly moving up behind Hecktor, he mixes another bomb and lobs it at the zombie being attacked by Michael.
Ah heh my mistake.
Zombies. Wild card, or new extension of the conflict? Big move, deciding move if it fails or succeeds... Percival rushes after Gared, mixing and throwing a bomb against the zombies.
Attempts to rouse reveal that the thin alchemist is a surprisingly deep sleeper... and a surprisingly loud snorer. Nevertheless he is eventually woken up; blinking, he dons his monocle, already in his armor; pausing to swig a drink of water, he staggers out into the street.
Hearing Hecktor's speech , Percival's eyes go wide in horror. "Oh, wonderful, an entire male population with massive hand damage, when many of them earn their livelihoods by the strength and skill of their hands. And what happens if the pole breaks and the others claim it was only because they softened it up...? Working out one's emotional stress with a safe release is a commendable idea, but I will NOT be responsible for healing four-hundred broken knuckles in a single day."
Lawson washes some sweat from his brow and smiles at the woman. "We do, ma'am." Idly, he tosses his still-held bomb over his shoulder into the nearest bin or rubbish tip. Once many people flinch, he turns. "Did I not mention they are only combustible for a very short time period?" He grins, breaking any remaining tension, before turning to the woman, all business.
Seconds before the fight breaks out, Percival's hands blur, diving into his pockets and mixing another concoction. He throws it forwards between the two groups, far enough that neither are hurt, just shocked by the explosion of light and sound. Their attention caught, he calls out to the crowd- "I HAVE JUST RETURNED FROM A BLOODY TREK TO RETRIEVE THE INGREDIENTS I NEED TO CURE YOUR WIVES, CHILDREN, PARENTS AND MAYBE EVEN YOURSELVES OF THIS THRICE-CURSED PLAGUE! I WILL NOT BE INTERRUPTED BY A BLASTED COMPETITION DISPUTE! NOW, EITHER SAVE THIS FIGHT FOR TOMORROW AND GET OUT OF MY WAY SO I CAN CURE YOU ALL OR I'LL BLAST EVERY ONE OF YOU UNCONSCIOUS, SET YOUR WOUNDS AND CURE YOU LATER!" The usually calm healer reaches into his pockets and mixes another bomb, holding it up threateningly.
How many people on each side of the fight?
I'm up for splitting.
Percival becomes more and more restless as the party heads deeper into town. As the cultist is discussed, he mutters "This is spending time many do not have... we need to get these materials to the herbalist, and their degradation period is unknown..."
Percival eventually calms down. "Urgathoa, intruiging..." He pockets one of the silver daggers, and sets out stabilizing the wounded cultists.
Percival mixes an explosive with lightning speed, skips forward and tosses it at the cultists.
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh-" Percival yanks out a small bottle and drinks deep, his speech and movements accelerating "oh dear ohdearohdearohdearohdear!!!"
Percival frowns and begins walking briskly forward towards the wagon. "Oh dear... I do hope the breakage has not shattered any of the medicinal items... I should inspect them."
I'll drop out, good luck.
Name: Percival Lawson
Crypt Breaker is actually wonderful; trapfinding plus all the nice Rogue trap-finding talents. With Chirurgeon for healing, should be a very nice addition to the team.
Percival proceeds forward calmly.
Percival nods. "He will; blood flow has stopped, and my poultice should be sufficient in deterring infection. Please make sure he receives some rest and avoids dirtying or breaking the bandages as much as possible."
Percival gives a small wince as he realizes his mistake. "My apologies, I thought the child was not yet laid to her rest. Now, your gardener..."
Percival frowns for a moment, hearing the answer. "I can tend to your gardener, ma'am. But may I be permitted to examine Emogene?"
Percival finds his voice lowered to a hush as the figure appears, but he is unable to hide the expression of irritation that crosses his face. "A river nymph; fey creatures, traditionally benevolent... but as all fey are, unpredictable."
Come the morning, Percival brews up a few more vials of healing potion and passes two of them around.
Percival frowns and thinks.
"Sir Stamford is correct; there is some magic at work here..." Percival frowns and, one hand in his voluminous pockets, begins to slowly edge forwards.
Levelled up my sheet and converted to text.
Percival simply gives his patient a quick smile and darts over to pour another concoction down Hecktor's throat.
"Gared! OhyeahrightIforgotabouthimholdon!" Percival pulls out another bottle from his bulging overcoat and looks at it for a moment. "HuhholdonIseenowsoobvious!" Bending down over Gared, Percival nimbly tugs out a single hair from his head, dropping it into the bottle, following it with a small puff of dust from a retrieved pouch. Swishing the concoction around, he tilts it up and pours it down the fallen warrior's throat. "That'llbejusttheticketforhim!"
Percival looks sad. "Awwisitoveralreadyiwasjustabouttohavefungetitstartedblowstuffup!"
Pull back and let me chuck bombs as we run?
It’s a standard action to drink a mutagen. Apologies, hadn't realized I was prone. Just move me back to my spot on the floor.
I just got harder to hit, and I've got some CLW extracts to keep me up.
As Garek falls Percival hesitates, hands poised to mix another bomb; then he gives a small shake of his head. Reaching deep into his coat, he draws out a tiny bottle, its contents a bright shade of blue. Taking a deep breath, he lifts it to his lips and drinks deep, wiping his lips before stowing it away. His eyes begin to lose focus, shuddering, as he whispers "Oh gods I do dislike this efffeeeccccccccccttttherewego!" The shuddering spreading to his entire body, Percival's arms lengthen and his fingers grow hooked. A wide, manic grin spread across his face as he seems to vibrate on the spot, bouncing around, a ball of energy. "Rightotimeforfun!" Racing forwards, he runs to the corner of the room and waves at the worg, other hand reaching for a dart. "Doggiegetreadysomethingscomingforya!"
His eyes fixed on the warg ever since it admitted killing two-legses, Percival carefully steps in the room, mixes together vials and powders and throws it in a single swift motion at the creature.
"We will need more than two mushrooms..." Percival quietly whispers to the group.
Percival blinks in polite surprise as his bombs prove so effective. Shrugging, he looks between everyone and gives a shy grin. "Thank you, gentlemen."
Percival swiftly mixes together another concotion and, moving behind Lucanor, lobs it over everyone's heads at the skeletons.
Percival steps hesitantly through the door and raises an eyebrow. He grips a dart tightly as he peers into the darkness.
Percival mops his brow as the two ceiling-creatures fall. "Close, that encounter could have become quite difficult..."
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