"Well I reckon so," Ronan responds, marveling. "I'd rather that than cut it apart. Not that I'm much good at that."
Ronan takes a moment to consult his spirits on whether they've heard of anything like this before.
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"Oh, good!" Ronan exclaims. "It's like yer readin' my mind, Saraon." He grins. "Well, let me know if'n ye need my help with any of it. If it's try'na hide or whatnot, I should be able to find it from, oh let's say, about 200 meters out."
"I take it ye'd prefer yer flytrap returned in one piece, eh?" Ronan clarifies. "More or less, less or more." Ronan knows a spell that will help them track the flytrap down. But convincing it of anything? Transporting it? Incapacitating it? That could be a bit trickier. But they could try. Once they found it in the first place, it oughtn't be too hard to try to speak with it. Eventually, he and Saraon might even be able to charm them, but he didn't think either of them were ready to do that sort of wonder yet. Actually, Saraon might already be able to speak with the flytrap, or could with a bit of preparation. But until then, it was time to start looking.
"Truth be told, we're lookin' to scrounge up some support for a venture of our own, but we can talk our own business while we help you with yours, if'n that's all right." Ronan bows as he introduces himself. "Ronan Del'Arte atcher service. Thas some mighty fine plant growth you're fixin' up here."
Ronan smiles. What wonderful magic! It was the sort that he was not capable of producing. His particular abilities with plants either focused on the manipulation of what was already there or the rapid growth. Neither was sustainable long term. This was the sort of spell work that folk in the before times sought to emulate through careful processes. And that was the funny thing about technology: it was easy in the Barrens to look at the giant scraps of twisted metal jutting from the landscape and consider that technology. But no: this, what Grimple and Deytha were doing, was technology. Agriculture. Systematic treatment. Knowledge of the craft, lost across the eons and rediscovered here. Yes. He could be happy here.
Approaching, Ronan calls to his vision the base magic that allows him to assess magical auras, curious as he is of what sort of magic Grimple is employing here.
He hopes to use this knowledge to assist, if he can, or at least to demonstrate to the gnome host that he understands what's going on here in spite of his mechanism-laden appearance.
"Thank ye kindly, Miss Deytha," Ronan says. Withdrawing a bit further away, Ronan confers with the others. "Let's try Grimple Thundercroak next."
That's great news, even if there are still uncertainties!
Since the question was directed towards Saraon, I wanted to give them a chance to respond first. But I'll offer an explanation shortly.
Bas told us over a month ago that they'd be in and out because of life stuff. They said to nudge them if needed. I would rather move things along if people haven't responded within a week, and sooner preferably. We have all posted our skills in our aliases and should be able to be botted for quick rolls. We were making really good progress during July and I was getting excited about where the story was going. I'd love to get that momentum back.
Ronan gives a small salute and clambers up the dam. Deytha seems remarkably spry, and Ronan admires her spirit! And the view. Why, it's absolutely inspiring. Not keen to pull a muscle working the logs, Ronan looks at the materials gathered around and starts planning work on a device to carry and stabilize logs for the stronger folk in the group to wedge into place. It would almost certainly be temporary at best, but with a bit of manpower he'd be able to get it built in no time at all!
He pulls out his trust any-tool and gets to work, eyes gleaming with the possibilities.
As Saraon does not take the extended hand or make introductions, Ronan takes the beaver-masked halfling's hand with a gentle smile. "I imagine you know our Mr. Duskdragon here, but I don' rightly know how much whispers of our arrival have rippled out through the waves of the Glade. My companions can introduce 'emselves, but I was special keen to meetcha. Name's Ronan Del'Arte. An' let's see...luggin' logs? Well, y'seem like a busy woman, so how's about we save any other business for when yer labor's lightened to gain more time to spare?"
Ronan does not look like the strongest sort, but neither is he frail. So even if he doesn't look like the type to be able to lift a bundle of logs, he portrays an air of confidence that suggests he's ready to work.
"I reckon I'd like to talk to Deytha Barkbiter. Waterfolk and Samsaran tend to get along all right."
Ronan grumbles. "I didn' expect such hostility to jes talkin'," he says. "Sorry if I overstepped, Saraon."
Much as he wants to give deference to Saraon, Ronan has a hard time keeping his mouth shut with stubborn people. "What'd convince y'all?" he asks. "A bit o' truth-detecting magic whilst ye question us? Physical stuff? Swearin' on some holy book or whatnot? Service to yer cause? Cuz ye've heard yer man's testimony. He's got no reason to lie." Ronan shakes his head, keenly aware that his appearance dressed in the trappings of the Old World could very well cause them to mistrust him. "Look, I know y'all look at some'n like me 'n assume I don't give two s&%+s about the nat'ral world. Ye might think all the Rust Saints jes wanna strip the land of what little resources she has left to give. But thas not me. Jes ask those here what all I've done since they met me." He holds his hands out. "Ye wanna know what I believe? Repsect where it's due, Elder Gorsk; I dunno how far back yer family mem'ry goes. But I hear whispers from folk what's been dead fer a long, long time. They tell me about the world 'fore the Wastes. 'Fore the Calamity. Way back when, our technology weren't all opposed to nature, but worked alongside it. I ain' try'na convince ye to pick up a gun or learn computin' or whatever, but...we want sim'lar ends. Don' dismiss Saraon on my account."
Ronan fixes his eye on the old druid, his own relatively physical young age belying memories that stretch back well beyond the dwarf's grandfather. "Then you know the world is older and stranger than any of us alive truly know. We do not bring wild claims without evidence. Yours is the haste to dismiss, not ours to bring."
Best wishes to you and your family.
Ronan smiles at Kat. Logically, he believes her, or at least he wants to. But knowing and believing are two different things.
The Glade is stunning. It wasn't Ronan's way, but these people were living in Harmony with the World. The Spirits are chatty, whispering in hushed awe. Ronan lets Saraon take point, ready to provide backup. Some of what the half-elf speaks of (from before he had joined them) is new to Ronan, but he follows along the logical throughput easily enough. It's disconcerting how quick the dwarf is to dismiss their concerns before hearing any evidence, and Ronan immediately dislikes him. What does he know of traditions?
Ronan is initially shocked that he was caught so unawares by Aed of the Hawk. He was normally eminently vigilant. So to be snuck up on? The man had to be good. Should he bring up that he also wanted to heal the world? It depended on what the Halcyon Circle's eye towards technology was. Was it a total prohibition, or an acceptance of sustainable means and methods? Or, to be more specific, was there a cutoff of technological development and use after which they adamantly denied? He decides to leave that be for the moment, since he is currently--as always--bedecked in clicking and whirring gears.
To Kat, Ronan shakes his head and takes a while to respond. "I been called far worse 'n a 'nutter' in my years," he sighs at last. "Folk are rare who believe half o' what I hafta say. I learnt ta keep lots to myself o'er the years. So I relate to those with crazed eyes n' frazzled hair n' whatnot. We're all jes folk." --- The visions seem to have mostly stopped, while the voices now dominate Ronan's psyche once more. He looks about at the reeds and the stream with a smile. It seems calming. He had never met the druids of the Glade before, outside Saraon. He wonders what they remember of the Old Ways.
Ronan looks uneasy at Hezekh's claim. "Thought you was a learned sort, Hezekh," he jabs. "You saw the circle. I was tryna figure out what it was." He scuffs his shoe in the dirt. "Sides, fightin' back don' mean killin' by default. We coulda taken 'im alive." --- Ronan is quiet in the following days, not nearly as talkative as he had been on the front half of the journey. But he looks agitated, often staring off at things no one else sees, nodding or shaking his head as though conversing nonverbally with himself--someone invisible to the others. He doesn't seem to notice that they've arrived at the Glade until someone else makes it clear.
The samsaran nods uneasily. "I'm not sayin' nothin' 'gainst Nature's final mercy, mind, but I were to spill my marbles 'n beg for death, I'd hope y'all'd try'n stop me first."
Ronan sighs and lifts his tea-kettle-on-a-stick back to his shoulder. "We're lucky that wasn't nothin' but a foot-soldier o' Abaddon. Scary-lookin' but easy 'nuff to handle with the firepower we boast." He nods at Saraon. "But maybe don' go strikin' folk down like that. If there'd been two or three, that coulda gone right differ'nt."
"A genthodaemon," Ronan replies. "Avatar of pointless death; a being of pure malice." Then his tongue begins to hiss as he addresses the daemon directly. Infernal:
"You're not welcome on this plane, fiend. Get thee back from whence you came and never come this way again." Ronan turns his eye from the corpse of the dead madman and towards the daemon. The angular cyan pattern the shines just beneath his skin glows and he hexes it.
"If'n y'all have any silver, now'd be a good time to bring it out. Sprig, one of 'em celestials ought to be useful. But avoid elementals n' such. An' try'n stay out of its reach if'n ye can!"
Terrifying. Let's do this y'all!
Awesome. Given the rules on IDing monsters: You can use this skill to identify monsters and their special powers or vulnerabilities. In general, the DC of such a check equals 10 + the monster’s CR. For common monsters, such as goblins, the DC of this check equals 5 + the monster’s CR. For particularly rare monsters, such as the tarrasque, the DC of this check equals 15 + the monster’s CR, or more. A successful check allows you to remember a bit of useful information about that monster. For every 5 points by which your check result exceeds the DC, you recall another piece of useful information. Many of the Knowledge skills have specific uses as noted on the below table. How many questions do I get about the genthodaemon with a 25? Or can I just get 2-4 (I hope at least 2) useful bits of information?
Ronan's eyes widen as Saraon makes his declaration and strikes the man down. He futilely reaches his hand out, "No! Wait! We don'--" But it's too late. The blood. The text. The voices crescendo. Ronan puts his hand up to his temple and winces at the chatter, trying to discern more of what was about to come.
But the voices could not adequately prepare him for the summoning that follows. Angles without lines. Hungry gnashing darkness. Wings wrapped in rust. Eyes of malice. The voices...the voice...do the others hear it? Was it real? Or another hallucination? "No..." he croaks.
"We'll be havin' no unmakin' today," Ronan says. His eye glimmers as he draws on the spirits to interfere with the man's ability to break free of Bas' grasp.
Ronan startles at the ringing shot but holds his ground. "I hear ya, friend. It's no comfort that the world goes its own pace, but just so it does. Are you sure 'n ye don' want any tea?" Ronan's eye glimmers as he draws on the spirits to interfere with the man's aim.
Ronan sees the runic impressions in the road and urges Bas to not pass over it. Without closer, clearer study, there was no telling what sort of magics it could hold. And the way it's constructed seems oddly familiar. The figure that emerges is a sight to behold. He was perhaps a man on his way towards the state of the prospector they had met back in town. Perhaps where Ronan was trending. Maybe he was already there, or through, or even past the point. After Saraon's introduction, Ronan gives a small wave. "Ronan Del'Arte, atcher service."
He'll wait for the man to answer Saraon's question before asking another. "Wouldja be keen to have any tea? Oblivion's easier to face on a warm belly."
Over the days of travel, Ronan's visions start to diminish to the point that there are only a few stray hallucinations. (At least he assumes they're hallucinations. Or hopes.)
During the first night, Ronan wanders off for about 20 minutes. When he returns, his head has been wrapped with fresh bandages and he is grinning from ear to ear. While on the road, Ronan spends some time tinkering with the various gadgets, bits, and bobs that the party has held onto, trying different combinations of items to see what holds together and what might be too dangerous to try. All the while, he offers stories and insights into the nearby land, things that sound far-fetched but could be true. At seeing the tents, Ronan decides to accompany Bas. Two sets of eyes were better than one, after all, even if one was having a tendency to see things that weren't really there.
Oooh, I've never been to the Berghoff! I'll have to try that one of the next times I get up to Chicago. (I'm only about 3 hours away.) I can recommend some great items for druids! Some of my go-tos are more for abilities that you don't have as a halcyon druid , but I still have some goodies!
Then for half-elves, there's:
Of course, if there's a specific bonus you're looking for, I'd recommend perusing either Greatest Grab for the Gold or The Armamentarium. They're both helpful resources that can cut down massively on time spent shopping around.
Welcome back! Did you see the Bean? (I mostly insist on calling it the Bean because Anish Kapoor is a jerkface and any attempt to make him mad while still enjoying his art makes me happy.)
"Mighty kind a both o' ya," Ronan says, watching as Katheryn's hair floats up and forms into a half-dozen snakes while Sprig's jaw unhinges and three sets of gnashing teeth emerge. Ronan smiles, knowing they weren't real. Probably. It was nice when it was just the voices. I got used to them. "Maybe someday. Thank ye."
Ronan blinks several times, breathing in thought. "I s'pose I'd know if I regretted the knowin' in retrospect. Like, once you know somethin', you can't well unknow it. What does that do to a person?"
Ronan gets swept up in the dancing, glad to have physical motion to counteract the overwhelming influx of other sensory data. And a friend, at that. He works up a decent sweat, but persists, wanting to show that being a big on the older side wouldn't hold him back from cutting a rug on the dance floor. He gives a thoughtful hum to Katheryn's question before unconvincingly waving it off. His smile falters a bit. "The spirits are awful talkative tonight," he says. "A question for ye, Kat: do ye think there's such a thing as too much knowin' or not?"
So Ronan is looking for a Lore Needle, which will eventually allow him to use his Knowledge (Engineering) on any knowledge skill in which he is trained up to three times a day. It seems on brand. He's also looking for Goggles of Minute Seeing, which also seem like that wonderful blurry line between magic and sufficiently advanced technology. It comes out to a total of 6500, so if I could borrow against my future share, I'd love that. And if I need to roll for them, here goes:
Scaling Items are interesting. After Unchained came out, Paizo started experimenting a bit more with items like this. They really came into their own with the Relics in War for the Crown and Tyrant's Grasp. In both of those APs, the relics scaled with the PCs as they accomplished specific goals. The key with the relics is that they were found rather than purchased and could not be sold. The bit on Adapting Scaling Items on the final linked page could be useful. So while Hezekh won't be selling the galvanic gauntlets (we hope), it might be worth figuring out whether there will be any costs associated with upgrading them every other level (i.e., 15% of Hezekh's WBL) or whether he'll eventually have an item worth 36,604 gp for only the original cost of 1,882 gp. --- I have been trawling through the wondrous items to figure out if there's anything Ronan wants now or if he's saving up for a bigger purchase down the line. Is there a base value for the settlement, and should we roll a d100 to see if specific items are available?
The time-stretching, mind-bending encounter in the Akashic Record leaves Ronan less prone to indulge in the food and drink on offer in the tavern. The space where arms end and tentacles begin frays in his vision, hindering his appetite for the festive atmosphere. He's almost certain that these specters will leave him once he gets some sleep and is able to reorient his mind. But then again, they'll mostly be replaced by the whispers and memories. Add it to the pile of strangeness encountered in the world: one more piece of the tapestry of existence. Anyone who passes by Ronan sees him drinking some sarsaparilla and absentmindedly humming a tune at once both ubiquitously familiar and entirely unknown, his eyes focusing on something probably not there.
They say you can get used to anything. The way sensation works is that your sensory organs detect changes in the environment, whether external or internal, and respond with changes in blood flow, hormones, and other internal physical or electrochemical signaling factors. Those signals characterize the nature and magnitude of the environmental change and compare it to previous experience. That frame of a moment, that slice of bit-to-bit constellation change, is not only compared to the moments just before (and more distant, fractious memories), but also to predicted future outcomes. In this way conscious awareness arises from the continuum of lived experience. But without sufficient stimulus--without environmental change--there is nothing for the sensory organs to capture. You get used to the feeling of clothes on your body until you don't notice them anymore. The hot bath that stung when you stepped into it grows comfortable even though the temperature hasn't changed. Even the din of noise in a tavern, in spite of constant stimulus and change, becomes in its own way a constant that can be tuned out. And in the absence of such stimuli, the brain has choices to stay active and sharp. It can program micro-changes, like unconscious shifts of the eye, to remain constantly scanning instead of blanking out. Or it can hallucinate, searching for patterns and meaning where none exist in the environment. The senses cry out for change. For meaning. For proof that they are not alone in the universe. So the quiet of the voices in his head, after years of overlapping chatter, was bliss: a sign that maybe he wasn't completely mad, at least not yet. He relishes in his newfound sense of mental freedom: luxuriating in the velvet upholstery, enchanted by the vivid visuals on and off the page, inhaling the scents of incense and ink and leather and parchment, rolling the oils of odor along his tongue. He doesn't mind the feeling of touching another mind so closely, even when the alien forces contained threaten to devour him whole. He wants to stay. To know more. To know. More. Please. Please. please.
Akashic Communion: Arcana +14
Dungeoneering +14 Engineering +24 Geography +14 History +23 Local +23 Nature +19 Nobility +14 Planes +23 Religion +23 If permitted, he would also cast heightened awareness and tears to wine to get an additional +4 to the checks.
Having put the sonic pistol together, Ronan holsters it. He keeps his gunpowder pistol as well, more out of sentimentality. "Any luck with sales, Mr. Snaggletooth?"
With other things to focus on, Ronan doesn't want to play permanent doctor in a town that already has one. At the very least, he can diagnose that this is not something that can merely be removed with the magics he has in his spiritual arsenal: no mere fear, curse, or disease, nor a malady of fatigue or mental damage. If it's a particular enchantment or a yet deeper condition, then they would be beyond his ken for now. Someday, but not yet. Ronan wishes the doctor and the scrapper his best and offers a prayer and a blessing before he rejoins his companions (whom he assumes have been busy at market).
Angles without lines? Hungry gnashing darkness? What specific imagery! Ronan tries to recall whether any of that rings a bell, whether a fragment of a previous life that went bad or an odd diary entry that he had read in some odd location.
Perhaps those will be things to research later, like in the Record. --- Ronan is quite interested in visiting with the incoherent scrapper. He makes his way to the town doctor's office and offers his aid as a fellow medic.
Assuming that he has an opportunity to observe the scrapper, he tries to get a sense for what's eating her, especially if there's a way to redeem her fractured mind.
Ronan gladly partakes in the offer of whiskey and tobacco, though he's clearly a novice when it comes to the latter, hacking nearly half a lung up after his first drag. Strained, he chokes out a remark: "Must be the water'n the blood respondin' unkindly." He considers the travel back to the Exchange versus heading straight to the Glade. "We've a mighty fine stash o'things now what might encumber us unnecessarily or make us a prime target for enterprisin' thieves. Mayhaps a jaunt back to unload n' resupply s'a good idea."
Ronan had thought about performing the ritual to meld the ghost of Enniawin Tellenthar to her gun and let her decide what to do, but he focuses on bringing her bones outside and burying them while burning some incense and conducting the ceremony. It strikes him that he and Saraon are likely the most overtly religious--if not the only--in the group. So he consults with Saraon to try to make the ritual more ecumenical, to give the restless spirits the best chance to be represented and heard by whomsoever they had followed in life. It is somber indeed. But seeing Gog in a much better, clear-headed mood is anything but somber! "Brain Man tried to kill us, so we had to defend ourselves. Looks like you're feelin' right good, though, eh Gog?"
Ronan raises an eyebrow at Hezekh's story, especially once it's revealed that he's wearing a wyvern-leather jacket. "I'd say you got the better of the deal in the end, eh?" Looking over the device, Ronan shakes his head. "The spirits tell me much 'bout how this old world tech works, n' I've studied enough beyond that myself, but this is beyond my ken. Might be worth leaving here in case we need to use it in the future."
Ronan listens curiously to Saraon's explanations and pontifications. He didn't know much of the Halcyon Circle, nor the half-elf's associations with it, but that idea of harmony with nature was clearly something that they both cared about. In different ways, of course. That was especially the case with the ideas of necromancy they begin discussing. We agree about more than may be obvious at first glance. Ronan also grins at Saraon's epithet for him: the Returning. "Well thas true n'its way, I suppose." The samsaran did make an effort not to bleed for just such reasons. It tended to unnerve people to see what had just been the case for him all is life. So the medical bed for installing cybernetics, with the promise of fairly extensive bleeding, is not quite so appealing for him. Dismantling it and selling it for scrap does sound promising though--or even reassembling it, if they had the space in the wagon for all of the parts!
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