'Tis a shame to see this game come to an end, but so it goes. This has been a great group, and I look forward to playing again with all (or at least some) of you sometime in the future.
Thanks everyone!
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But alas, I am afraid A- the Raven's path from here was one he was not entirely certain of himself... The writer raises an eyebrow at the elf's slip of the tongue, a momentary flash of shrewdness shining through his mournful demeanour. He wipes it away with the last of his tears. And we were tasked with ensuring the Key reached its lock...but if you intend to aid in poor Geppa's rescue, perhaps I can be convinced to turn my head as you pass by. The glare of the sunset on the snow can be fierce, you know. He raises a hand to his forehead in a parodied expression of distress, the other hand still on his rapier's hilt; as his shoulder flexes, the bird sitting upon it gives a loud caw of disapproval and takes off to circle around the elf. Oh, and one more thing - be sure to translate for your pet, here. Small words for a small, small creature, yes? Renato maintains a cordial appearance, nodding patiently all the way through Cale's belittling and self-aggrandisement. After so many years of navigating the tumultuous politics of the nation's capital, he was more than used to dealing with people who loved the sound of their own voices. There was nothing to be gained from antagonising the Calistrian. Thankfully, to a narcissist there was no such thing as negative attention. Seeing that he has been granted the privilige of basking in the favour of the dashing outlaw, the writer dons the briefest of smiles and winks knowingly at the elf. "Whatever their... personal misgivings may be," he says. "My companions and I seem to be of an mind in regards to the Raven's lover. I, for one, vow do my best to see the two reunited. Surely, the Lost Maiden would frown on me if I sought to keep them apart... not to mention the price of crossing one of the Savored Sting's faithful."
Renato nods understandingly at Pick, yet does not yield his impassioned entreaty. "There is no simple answer here, no black and white," he says. "You come from Azurestone. Would they have given the Key freely, the guardian of their prosperity? To a stranger, no less? Mayhaps they would have, but how long would it have taken to persuade them? All the while, your love languishes out of reach, enduring unknown torment. If you can claim you would not have considered resorting to theft to save them, you are a better man than I..."
Renato wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, deeply touched by Cale's tale of love denied. He turns to his companions, spreading his arms in a gesture of supplication. "My friends," he says. "I implore you to have compassion! The Calistrian is brusque, but what he tells us casts the theft in an entirely different light. Can you imagine being put in the Red Raven's position? What would you have done if you knew the only way to save the one dearest to you is dooming an entire village to suffer? That cannot have been an easy choice to make. Surely his love does not deserve to be imprisoned, any more than the people of Azurestone deserve to endure the cold! There must be some way we can aid in releasing her, and still return the Vernal Key to the village." The writer then turns back to the elf. "Once the lock is open, can the Key be brought back?"
Renato takes a step forwards, placing a hand on Siulor's shoulder to calm the ranger. He nods to acknowledge Rhis, sparing her a short smile of appreciation before focusing on the matter at hand. "You will have to excuse my companion," he says to Cale. "He, like many others in this group, holds great affection for Azurestone. I realise that to you, it is just a village like any other. That is understandable. No heart can hold the whole world..." The writer takes a moment to look the Calistrian in the eye, searching. "As my friend says, we are here to seek answers. We do not wish to fight, and from your willingness to speak with us, I assume you wish the same. We know you work for the Red Raven. Help us understand his motives, so we may avoid needless bloodshed."
No info on any of those checks, then?
Eight stone outcroppings, each the size of a small cottage, protrude out from the hills' base, possibly the bones of an old structure. Renato eyes the site, not for threats, but out of curiosity for what seems like ruins of civilisation admidst the wilderness.
That's them - that's them! Rhis squeaks excitedly. Let's go - let's go! The writer places a hand on Rhis' shoulder, trying to calm her down. "Just a moment," he says. "We need to be careful. We are here to talk, but they might think of us as enemies. Do you think we will be able to approach peacefully? Or would Cale be willing to come out and meet us here, if we sent you to fetch him?"
Renato's first priority upon reaching the shore is checking that his notes have not been touched by the sudden dampness. To his relief, he finds that his backpack, at least, was worth its price, having mostly endured his quick dip into the river. The writers does his best to wring the water out of his new winter clothes, but still ends up looking rather wet and miserable. "Th-thank you," he says to Siulor, teeth chattering. "Not qu-quite like the ge-gentle brooks back ho-home."
Renato takes a deep sigh of relief as the last of the pikes is brought low, nodding with satisfaction at the fruits of the group's combined labour. The writer procures his journal and a piece of charcoal, quickly scratching down some lines with shaky fingers. The blood on the snow, the steam of their breaths in the wintry air, and the steady murmur of the water... The scene was positively inspiring! "Like the foam on the river, like the bubble on the fountain, thou art gone forever..." he mutters as he tries to capture the feeling of the moment.
The spray of cold water brings Renato back from his reverie. The writer blinks blankly at Siulor before turning his wand back towards the carnage.
Thoroughly exhausted by his magical efforts, Renato stops to catch his breath and to contemplate the pikes' feeding frenzy. Amidst the chaos of combat, he experiences something peculiar. It was not often that he was forced to turn his gifts to the act of ending a life, even one as small and insignificant as that of a fish. He despised violence, and himself for any twisted sense of satisfaction such acts of dominance usually brought him, but whatever he felt now was different. A sense of clarity and purpose, something altogether different than employing his powers for some petty squabble in the capital. Almost absent-mindedly, the writer flicks another magical projectile into the crimson waters.
...unless your spell specifically calls out Int 3 or higher, or something. Bingo.
@Torg: I wish I could help, but the best I can do at that range are first level magic missiles. My best spell is useless against non-sentient critters, unfortunately... :/
Renato's face reddens from the effort, but he keeps battering the pike with a barrage of quiet admonishments.
Huh. Well, that's confusing. :P
Seeing that his harangue is having little effect, and the troubles that his companions are having hitting the pikes, Renato raises his voice—or at least outwardly appears to—and continues to reprimand the nearest fish for its impudence.
Seeing one of the fearsome pikes sink its teeth into Black Midknight, Renato takes a deep breath and spins around to face the nearest aggressor. He appears to adopt all the appropriate mannerisms of a disapproving master scolding a misbehaving pet, and seems to be scolding the enemy, save that there is no audible sound departing from his lips.
Renato backs away from the water, flicking his wand in the general direction of the aquatic predators. The resulting projectile of energy makes a lazy circle in the air before finally zooming towards its target. "Watch out, Torg!" he shouts at the dwarf, gesturing wildly at the water for emphasis.
Renato has to go through his all his things twice to conclude that no, the boutique he patronised in the capital had not included even the shortest bit of rope in his camping equipment. "How was I supposed to know?" he thinks bitterly. Following Pick's example, Renato tries to make himself useful by grabbing one of his wands—the silver-gilt one—and helping the dwarf in surveying the water for dangers.
Sounds good to me. How many rolls do we have to make, in total?
Renato looks to Siulor for guidance, expecting the hunter to have more experience fording rivers than himself. Even in its current state, the stream was larger than any body of moving water he had ever seen, at least so close and in person. To him, rivers had mostly been either lines on a map, or some easily internalisable metaphor for the fleeting nature of human existence...
I should probably save some of that purple prose for Renato's actual dialogue, huh? :P
Renato staggers after Siulor, circling the deer from afar. He only barely manages to avoid retching at the combined stench of carrion and the lingering fumes left behind by the moth. "Do you think that Cale's people left the deer here on purpose?" he asks once they are inside. "To lure out the moth, and to slow our progress? Whatever the case, we should probably move the carcass..." 'We,' in this instance, clearly excludes the writer himself.
Renato looks on as his companions bring down the moth-like monstrosity, managing only a brief smile at their triumph before his legs give out on him. He slumps down on the ground, physically unmarred but mentally exhausted. The last shreds of the ghostly figures clinging to him fade away, taking their echoing shouts with them back to the mists of time.
Slowly but surely, Renato starts coming out of his daze. His ranting turns into mumbling as he shakes his head to clear it, and his teary eyes finally start to focus on what is happening around him.
Doesn't Torg get to attack the moth now that he's been hit? "Any confused creature who is attacked automatically attacks its attackers on its next turn, as long as it is still confused when its turn comes."
Overcome by a sudden bout of self-destructiveness, Renato is thankfully without the tools to carry out the impulse. Instead, he keeps on raving about the rich legacy of folk songs in Andoran and Galt, and their effect on the revolutionary poetry of present day. He keeps switching erratically between multiple languages, hugging his arms and swinging back and forth on his heels as he rants.
After Renato's last push to bolster his allies, the incessant drone finally overcomes his already addled mind. The figments around him fade and flicker as the writer doubles over, grasping his head as if in pain. He starts sobbing and muttering about the use of alliteration in Andoran folk songs in a jumbled mixture of Elven and Taldane.
Like before, the divine assurity that follows Torg's prayers seems to be amplified by Renato's presence, catching onto and reverberating through his being in a cacophony of different voices. This time, however, the writer seems more in control of what is happening, and stands his ground against the distant chorus. Intoxicated by the sudden feeling of dominance, he greedily reaches out to grasp at a sliver of that godly power which once flowed through him—or was it someone else, somewhere else, ages past? For a moment, it makes no difference. He stands proud and tall at the head of his army, facing down an all too familiar foe. The ghostly procession appears once again, indistinct and wavering, as if standing behind a wind-flung curtain. Now subdued, the forms trail after him like a tattered banner, never quite coming to focus.
As the group approaches their foe, Renato's usually slumped posture seems to stretch out and straighten into a nearly military poise. His now almost regal bearing only wavers as the eery hum of the moth's wings gets too loud to endure. Even as he falters, the writer reaches out through the fog that is clouding his mind, drawing on the shroud of memories lingering around him. And so, a ghostly figure steps forth from the retinue of apparitions, a shade of a shade, much too tattered to make out any detail, save for the vaguest impression of a crown and a gleaming sword grasped in one hand. The echo of the long-dead king points his transluscent blade towards the unnatural monstrosity blocking their path, and from Renato's lips, a sharp voice cuts through the disorienting thrum filling the air. Even though the words are unfamiliar, there is an element of absolute authority to the command that seems to transcend language. The slowly mounting feeling of courage and resolution filling every heart burgeons into a full-blown fervor for battle, and for a glorious death in service of something greater...
I'm good with you guys coordinating the effort between bless and Heroic Echo - you could even do it in the last prep round before approaching closely and have Torg still able to use Touch of Good during a possible surprise round. Renato's got a good enough CHA modifier that it'll still likely last the entire fight. That works. So, if Torg is amenable, we'll have him cast bless just before we initiate combat, and Renato will serve as a signal booster on that 'round' before battle. Then both of us can do our own thing when the moth shows up. I'll throw in some description on Heroic Echo once we've rolled initiative, since I'll probably be using moment of greatness on the first round anyway. As for moment of greatness and Heroic Echo, I don't see any reason they wouldn't synergize - as you said, they both come from the same bloodline, and Heroic Echo specifically increases the morale bonus, which means that extra +1 would be part of the doubling. Okay, cool! My most powerful offensive spells are enchantments (which are of no use against mindless creatures like the spider we face before), and all of them are limited to either a) weaker opponents, or b) intelligent enemies. With these buffs, at least I have something to do when I can't use those. :) Migraine. Can't think straight. Post tonight. *doubles morale bonus on saves against migraine*
Of course you are free to do whatever you want to do. I just wanted to make you aware the option, seeing as you are the only one in the team who can grant morale bonuses. The ability needs good timing and some out-of-character coordination. For example, I was unable to use the ability previously because Torg cast bless while Renato was still flat-footed (making him unable to use immediate actions).
@Torg: Would you mind waiting until the beginning of initiative until you cast bless? I can always cast moment of greatness, but that is trumped by this bloodline ability: Heroic Echo (Su): At 3rd level, when you receive a morale bonus from any spell, spell-like ability, or magic item, including those you cast on yourself, that bonus increases by +1. At 9th level, this ability also applies to competence bonuses. If you receive a morale effect (or a competence effect at 9th level) that affects an area or multiple targets, as an immediate action you can share your increased bonus with all other recipients. This increase to other participants lasts a number of rounds equal to your Charisma bonus. You can use this ability once per day, plus one time per three levels after 3rd. That would be five rounds in total, which is kind of a waste unless combat begins immediately after casting. Hmm, now that we're on the subject... @GM Rennai: Do you think that moment of greatness and Heroic Echo (as described above) would stack? As in, could I give everyone the five-round boost and then re-double it for one roll? Both the spell and the supernatural ability come from the same bloodline, in case it matters. I'm not sure if they are meant to synergise...
Renato also taps himself with his wand of mage armor before following after Siulor. Not worth a post, really. :P
Actual earplugs give a bonus against all "effects that require hearing", not just sonic effects. This sure sounds like it does.
Renato obediently reaches into the pouch at his belt, pulling out a pair of waxed earplugs. "A moth?" he whispers before putting them to use. "Are they much like normal insects, or something else entirely? How cognisant are these creatures?"
Finding his delicate senses assailed by the foul stench of rotting flesh and offal, Renato procures an ink-stained handkerchief to shield himself from the odour. He looks uncertainly at Siulor, expecting his friend to know how to deal with the beasts of the wild—or their leftovers, as it were.
Renato has no real opinion on picking the route. He goes along with whatever Siulor says when it comes to tracking and wilderness survival.
Renato seems lost in thought, humming to himself and jotting down an errant rhyme, but his ears perk up as Black Midknight starts spinning her tale. The writer pauses his scribbling, and slowly turns to look at the vigilante. His face is drawn into an expression of raw sorrow, reflected in the dull, dark pools of his eyes, which are glistening with tears. He reaches out to touch her shoulder in consolation. "How awful!" he manages to get out. "I am so sorry for your loss..." After that Renato seems to get choked up, and goes back to his writing with renewed fervor. Sense Motive DC 29: Renato tries to pass his emotional outburst as the oversensitivity of an artistic soul—quite expertly so, as if he were used to the act. However, to a trained ear, there is a tenor of personal loss to his voice, as well as a spike of anger at the frivolity with which the vigilante lies about losing a parent.
"I propose we focus on finding the Calistrian," says Renato. "The thief has a lead on us already, so I understand if the rest of you would rather hunt him down as promptly as possible. However, confronting him without knowing his true motives might be unwise. He must have stolen the Key for a reason, and this might be our only chance to arm ourselves with that knowledge..." The writer shrugs, running his fingers through his hair in resignation. "Of course, I will defer to the majority. This is a democracy, after all."
Hey - what's this? She bends over near the still-smoking fire circle and straightens again holding an ornately-carved length of dark wood, its etchings seeming to dance slightly beneath her fingers. A wand of some kind, maybe...no, wait, I'm sure of it. I saw him playing around with this sometimes...this is Cale's! Why he's left it here I don't know - maybe he dropped it or something, but I'm pretty sure it's his. Renato takes a quick look at the wand, humming faintly as he examines the magical implement. "What an expensive plaything," he muses. "You can keep it if you wish, Rhis. I do not foresee us having much use for such a trinket..."
Seems like we know enough t' be moving on with. We know the path we need to take. Now let's get moving. "Do we?" asks the writer. "We know that the Raven went in one direction, and the other trail is meant to lead us astray, but that does not mean it leads nowhere. If Cale was here, mayhaps he went in a separate direction. Or do the tracks indicate that there was more than one person heading that way? We should make sure..."
Renato looks on as his companions assail the beast, standing ready to bring it down before it has time to strike back.
Renato flicks his right wrist, causing a silver-gilt wand to appear in his hand. The writer waves the implement with a flourish, sending a pale blue projectile at the enemy.
Renato shakes his head to clear it of ghosts, and moves back towards the fray. He opens his mouth again, this time with purpose. The writer points at the monstrous arachnid, moving his lips as if passionately reciting something or giving a harshly worded order. Instead of the sound of speech, there is merely a sickening crunch as the spider's exoskeleton fractures below its thorax.
As the dwarf finishes, there is a barely noticeable flash of blue light... The brief flash of light seems to catch on to Renato like a sheet caught in the wind, lingering around him for a moment longer than it should. In the pale glow, there is a brief impression of someone standing behind him. Not one person, but a seemingly infinite line of crowned figures stretching back towards nothingness. Renato doubles over, holding his head and opening his mouth as if to scream: instead, Torg's prayer is answered by a thousand distant voices. It is like the war cry of a vast army shouting in a hundred different languages at once, each echoing the Forgefather's blessing. The sound is empowering, filling every heart with the bravery of ancient heroes. As if in a daze, the writer stumbles after Pick.
Finally we get a morale bonus, and I can't use my bloodline power to boost it because I'm flat-footed. Ugh. :S At least I still have a spell I can use to do something similar.
Utterly focused on not stepping on one of the snares, Renato fails to notice anything untoward elsewhere.
Completely out of his element, Renato stays close to Siulor—perhaps imperceptibly closer than he would have dared previous to their conversation in the small hours of the morning. "It seems prudent to avoid the campsite," he says. "This seems like a perfect place to set up an ambush. Or maye a trap of some sort. I mean, at least from a narrative point of view..."
No need to wait on me, at least. I have no ranks in Survival, so I'm waiting on someone who can actually make tracking checks to go first. Renato would be wont to just blunder into whatever it is he is missing.
Renato lets out a panicked sound, suddenly disappearing from sight.
Aye, the Gardeners have proved t' be little more than murderers and fomenters of chaos, and it seems like this Raven is doing the same. Siulor follows Renato's gaze toward Black Midknight's tree and sighs heavily. That one seems t' have some good intentions at least. Strange that she should choose t' hide her heroism behind a mask, though. Makes ya wonder what she's tryin' t' hide. "I do not doubt her good intentions," says Renato in response. "But the road to Hell is paved with such, as the saying goes. The rest of our little group seems trustworthy enough, but she worries me. What she hides from us is merely a face, but what she herself might be hiding from is far more worrying. Responsibility, perhaps? Culpability? That is the path of the Gardeners, whether she is aligned with them or not..." Siulor meets Renato's sudden optimism with renewed anger. This is just the issue about the Gardeners and their ilk. For every true enemy of the state they remove, they harm dozens of innocents. I've made far too many friends in Azurestone to allow the Raven to get away with this. Renato leans in and takes Siulor's hand, doing his best to calm his friend. "We will not let that happen," he says reassuringly. "But we must take care not to act too rashly, either. We still do not know why the Raven stole the Vernal Key, or how this Cale and his lackeys play into his scheme. Were we to play judge and executioner without concrete evidence, we would be no better than the mobs. More importantly, if we act without knowing all the facts, we might cause more harm than we avoid..."
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